


Redwall Midwinter Feast

by KazenoShun



Series: Redwall Drabbles [3]
Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Amnesia, Celebrations, Friendship, Multi, Reunions, Winter feast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KazenoShun/pseuds/KazenoShun
Summary: Set after the events of Legend of Luke. A group of travelers stops by Redwall for the midwinter feasts.





	1. Feast 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall

Winter lay like an icy blanket over Mossflower woods. It seemed that every tree, bush, and flower was covered with thick, glittering snow. Ivy, and other such vines strung throughout the canopy, shone bright beneath a coating of ice so clear it was like glass. Now, even the warmest of days felt cold enough to freeze a creature through if they dared set paw outside. The season had come early this year, bringing with it more snow than most of the abbeybeasts could recall. Only Martin, the resident abbey warrior who had originally hailed from the North, could remember colder winters. Though the dibbuns pestered him seemingly day and night for tales from those cold seasons, Martin remained stubbornly quiet on the matter. Vurg, Denno, and Dulam were more vocal on the subject, willingly launching into narratives of the winters of the North. Martin had largely put a stop to this when he caught Vurg telling the babes the story of Martin’s first winter, and how he had made habit of climbing anything that would get him above the snow so that he jump off into it. While Martin had conceded that the activity had turned out rather harmless for him, he still pointed out that the things he had climbed were relatively close to the ground, as opposed to the abbey walls. Thus was winter at Redwall Abbey.

 

 

Snow fell lightly upon the abbey lawn as Bella, badgermother of Redwall, crossed to the gatehouse. Though ‘twas only mid-afternoon, the sun was already low in the sky, sinking westward towards the realm of night. Bella did not bother to knock upon the gatehouse door before gently pushing it open. Martin's things were arranged neatly around the single room. The abbey warrior had set out for St. Ninians together with Gonff at the first sight of dawn, trekking down to the church to see if the storm from the night before had done any damage to the building. Bella suspected that the two would have to stay overnight at the church if they did not arrive back before sunset, as the snow-covered woodlands became perilous to walk through once the sun disappeared.

Following behind Bella came two dibbuns, Gonfflet the son of Gonff the mousethief, and squirrel Chugger. They giggled and laughed together, challenging each other to see which could jump to the further pawprint without landing on unmarked snow. Bella caught them up in her large paws as they reached the gatehouse. “What brings you two out to here on such a cold afternoon?” she asked with a chuckle.

Gonfflet blew snow from his nose and answered, “We came out to see when father and Martin’ll be back.” Chugger nodded vigorously in agreement, clambering up Bella’s arm onto her shoulders where he perched with his tail around the back of her neck.

“Why are you out here, Miz Bella?” Chugger asked.

“Do you recall meeting Gingivere and Lady Sandingomm last summer?” Bella asked them, ducking into the gatehouse to stir the embers left in the hearth.

“I remember,” Gonfflet said. “Ferdy and Coggs came with us. Mr. Gingivere was huge! He might’ve even been bigger than you, Miz Bella!”

Bella chuckled again. “So he might be, Gonfflet.” She placed another log on the embers, blowing lightly to help the dry timber catch fire. “They promised to come visit Redwall during our Midwinter feasts. So since Martin isn’t here to unbar the gate, I’ve come out to unbar it when they arrive.”

“Can we wait with you, Miz Bella?” Chugger asked. He scrambled down Bella’s back to sit next to small fire.

“Of course you can,” Bella told the two youngsters. She continued coaxing the small fire until it caught, then settled back to listen to Gonfflet and Chugger chattering away at each other while she waited.

Five seasons had passed since the autumn when Martin had returned from his quest to the north. Bella firmly believed that the abbey was the richer for gaining the stories and knowledge of the four creatures Martin had brought back with him,Vurg, Dulam, Denno, and Beau. Chugger and Trimp had been adopted by Columbine almost immediately, bringing the mousethief family up to five, six if you counted Martin. Bella smiled at the thought. True, it was as Martin had said the winter before. He was the last of his family, with no blood relatives to carry on his name and sword. Yet he was not without a family. He was closest to Gonff and Columbine, with Chugger and Gonfflet naming him the favorite uncle, but many of the Redwallers felt that the abbey warrior was part of a larger family. As one of the founders of Redwall, he was always willing to help solve whatever problems might arise during the construction. He was greatly loved by the abbey dibbuns as well.

Bella’s musings were interrupted by the sound of somebeast shouting outside the main gate. “Ho there. Is anybeast home? Squire Gingivere, Lady Sandingomm, and paw-weary wanderers would like to come in.” Followed by Gonfflet and Chugger, Bella hurried from the gatehouse to unbar the gate.

Standing on the path outside, covered with a light dusting of snow, stood Gingivere and Sandingomm together with their three kittens. Also with them stood a small group of travelers consisting of an odd assortment of creatures. From two young shrews, to hedgehogs and mice, to the aging hare and badger who seemed to be in charge. Gingivere motioned to the odd company.

“They were passing by the farm right as we were heading out. We were hoping you wouldn’t mind a few extra faces at Redwall with these storms becoming a nightly occurrence.”

Bella nodded and smiled warmly. “The gates of Redwall are always welcome to friendly travelers,” she said. “Please, come in.” As the part of travelers passed over the abbey threshold, Bella motioned Gingivere aside. “Martin and Gonff went out to St. Ninians this morning and have yet to return,” she told him. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but would you be able to go a short distance down the path to see if they are on their way back yet?”

“‘Tis no trouble at all, Bella,” Gingivere said. “I’ll be back shortly, hopefully with those two in tow.”

“Thank you, Gingivere,” Bella said. “I’ll send Skipper out to open the gates as soon as I can.” Gingivere nodded to her and, with a quiet word to his wife, headed out down the path once more.

Bella followed Lady Sandingomm and the travelers into the abbey grounds and barred the gate with the help of the other badger. As she turned to head back to the abbey, the aging hare stepped forward and made a leggy bow.

“Many thanks to you, good Marm,” he said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ballaw de Quincewold. The badger lady there is Rowanoak. Together we are the head of the Rambling Rosehip Players. I must thank you for your hospitality. Wot.”

Bella smiled at the hare, some sixth sense telling her that he would get along fabulously with Beau. “I am Bella of Brockhall,” she introduced herself, shaking Ballaw’s paw. “We at Redwall Abbey make it our purpose to offer shelter to anybeast who come seeking it, especially during cold seasons such as this. Please, be welcome here.”

More introductions followed as they crossed the main lawn to the abbey building. Bella learned that the mouse who had shouted for her to open the gate was called Brome, and had two young children by the names of Myrtle and Tintin with him. The mice Kastern and Gauchee, Celandine and Trefoil the squirrelmaids, and a mole by the name of Buckler introduced themselves as some of the first members of the troupe. The group had expanded quite a bit, they said, when they traveled north. Kastern’s husband, a mouse by the name of Yarrow explained that only half the company participated in the troupe as actors. The other half was made up of children, wanders, set-makers, and spouses such as himself. Bella found this easy to believe as she watched a pair of otters, Keyla and Tullgrew, attempting to convince their four young ones to come inside as the reached the front doors. The troupe’s little cart, which Rowanoak had been pulling, was left just outside the doors with a thick, waterproof blanket pulled over the top.

Once inside, the group began shedding heavy cloaks and sodden scarves. Lady Sandingomm took a large pack from her back and carefully set it upon the hall floor. Reaching inside, she helped pull a mousemaid free of the sack, while Brome ran back out to the cart only to return with a pair of crutches.

“Thank you, Lady Sandingomm,” the maid said. She turned as Bella strode up to her.

“I believe I’ve met everybeast else,” Bella said. “What is your name, miss?”

The mousemaid swept into a shallow curtsy, balancing carefully on the crutches. “My name is Laterose of Noonvale,” she said. “But please, call me Rose.”

“Welcome to Redwall, Rose,” Bella said, returning Rose’s curtsy with a small bow. “I’m sorry to intrude, but are you injured?” She motioned to the crutches.

Rose shook her head. “Not currently,” she said. “My brother and I ran afoul of some vermin many seasons back. I was wounded then. Each winter since, the cold has settled into my bones and made it difficult to walk long distances. I have little trouble during the warmer seasons.”

“I see,” Bella said. “I am glad to hear that you have recovered, it must make for quite the tale.”

“It does indeed,” Ballaw said, catching the end of the conversation. “The whole story is part of one of our plays, you know. We’d be happy to perform it as thanks for your hospitality. Wot wot.”

“What about the war story, Miz Bella?” Little Gonfflet came hurrying over to tug on Bella’s robe, followed by Chugger. Her looked up at her imploringly, as though afraid that the travelers’ tale would replace his father’s traditional telling of the war of Mossflower.

“No need to worry, Gonfflet,” Bella reassured the little mouse. “It only takes four evenings for your father to finish the tale. The midwinter feasts go on for three more days after that. Plenty of time for two stories.” She patted the pair between the ears and gently pushed them toward Cavern Hole. “I’ve got to go find Skipper, why don’t you two show our guests to Cavern Hole?” The two dibbuns readily agreed, and Bella saw the group begin moving toward the stairs before she headed off to find Skipper.

 

Rose gazed about her in awe as Gonfflet and Chugger led the group across the hall. The room stretched high above her, its ceiling hidden from view in the dark shadows caused by the setting sun outside. Wall sconces could be seen at intervals between the thick stone columns on either side of the hall. Below each sconce, near the floor, was a stone rose carved into the wall. Shallow alcoves were placed between these, each one providing a small space of privacy in the enormous hall. The seven broadstone steps leading down to Cavern Hole were just a detailed, with the word REDWALL carved into either side of the steps. Laughter and singing floated up from the hall below. Rose navigated the steps easily enough, arriving in Cavern Hole just behind Gonfflet and Chugger.

The smaller hall was a kaleidoscope of colors. Winter greenery of evergreen and ivy hung from the walls, dotted with the colorful berries of holly and mistletoe. Creatures of every size and shape and wearing all sorts of colors filled the hall. Some of the creatures sat at long tables, while others stood about talking with one another, while even more creatures hurried about setting up this and that. A group of squirrels scrambled about in the rafters, talking and laughing with each other as they lit candles. Several otters staggered into the hall, carrying an enormous cauldron between them. Mice and hedgehogs scurried hither and thither placing trays of food upon the tables.

Rose allowed her eyes to follow the young squirrel, Chugger, as he darted into the crowd, and soon found herself gazing at a familiar face.

“Trimp Rover,” she cried, “I haven't seen you in seasons. How are you?”

Trimp was a touch plumper than the last time Rose had seen her, good food and friendly company had done her well, it seemed. Dressed in a pale blue smock and soft white apron, she was helping to lay out food upon the tables.

The hedgehogmaid left off the biscuits she was arranging on the table and hurried over to Rose. “Miss Rose,” she said, carefully hugging the mousemaid, “What a surprise, seeing you this far south. I thought you lot were returning to Noonvale?”

Rose chuckled, settling herself down onto one of the long benches. “So we did indeed. Rowanoak and Ballaw wanted to make one last journey this direction before they retire from the troupe.”

“Is that so?” Trimp asked, dusting her paws on her apron. “Well, I’m certainly glad you ended up here. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay. Redwall’s a lot like Noonvale, just less secluded.”

Rose laughed and looked around. The sense of companionship and general friendliness of the crowd did remind her of Noonvale. “I’m looking forward to meeting your new friends, Trimp,” she said.

Now it was Trimp’s turn to laugh. “You’ve met one already,” she said. “I met little Chugger six seasons ago, goodness me has he grown since then. He was no more than a little tyke the day we rescued him.”

“Rescued him?” Rose cut in.

Trimp nodded. “I was traveling with a group from Redwall, on our way to the northwestern coastlands, when we came across a tribe of weasels. They had Chugger with them, tied to a stake by his neck. ‘O course our abbey warrior wasn’t going to stand by while an innocent dibbun was enslaved, so we went ahead and rescued Chugger. He told us that his parents were dead, so we took him with us. He’s been a part of Redwall ever since.”

Rose smiled at the tale. Her mind briefly flashed to a warrior she had known in seasons past, but she quickly forced the thought from her mind. Seasons knew if he was even still alive, it would do her no good to wonder where he had gone. “You have an abbey warrior?” she asked Trimp instead.

Trimp nodded. “He’s retired now. Still brings his sword out for special occasions, though. I suppose the dibbuns would probably cause a ruckus if he didn’t.” She chuckled at the thought. “He’s from the north too, you know. Came marching down south to Mossflower seasons ago.”

“Mayhaps he’s met Ballaw and Rowanoak before, then,” Rose said.

Trimp shrugged. “He might have, or he might not have,” she said. “He was wounded pretty badly in the Mossflower War, from what I hear. Couldn’t remember a thing from before coming to Mossflower once he recovered. Even if he has met Ballaw and Rowanoak before, it’s not likely he’d remember them.”

“I see,” Rose said.

“He’s quite kind, though,” Trimp continued. “You’ll like meeting him, I think.” The hogmaid glanced up, then straightened and began waving her paw in the air. “Martin!” she called. “Martin, Gonff, we’ve got guests.”

Rose choked on air, whirling around in her seat as best she could. Trimp, thankfully, had not noticed, being distracted as she was by Chugger and Gonfflet, who were attempting to sneak a few early biscuits. Rose stared at the mouse who had just descended into Cavern Hole. He still wore his winter cloak, with a light dusting of snow on his shoulders. A sword in a black leather scabbard hung across his back, swinging gently as he walked. “I’ll be right there, Trimp,” he called. He hurried across the hall to the head of the main table. Moving with a fluidity that surprised Rose, he removed his cloak and and sword and hung them on the back of a chair before approaching the group of travelers. As he got closer, Rose could make out the scars along his arms and across his face.

“Hello, Trimp,” Martin said as he reached the little group, “Who are all these creatures?”

Trimp stopped scolding Chugger long enough to introduce Rose. “This is a friend of mine. Rose of Noonvale. I met her while I was roaming about in the north.”

“Please to meet you, Rose of Noonvale,” Martin said with a short bow. “My name is Martin. Welcome to Redwall Abbey.”

Rose nodded dumbly, temporarily robbed of speech as she met Martin’s eyes. Clear gray eyes like the sea on a sunny winter day. This Martin was one and the same as the Martin she had met seasons ago at the walls of Marshank, right down to the notch in his right ear. And yet, he did not seem to recognize her. Realizing that Martin was still waiting for her to speak, Rose managed to find her voice. “Thank sir you… I mean…” Rose felt heat rising in her cheeks as the words spilled out.

“She means thank you, sir,” Brome said, stepping in to save her from further embarrassment. “I think she was a bit startled, is all. You look very much like a friend of ours whom we haven’t seen for some time.”

“I must apologize for startling you, then,” Martin said. “Please, call me Martin. You are?”

“Brome.” Brome took Martin’s outstretched paw and shook it firmly. Martin looked as though he was about to say something else when somebeast called for him across the room. Quickly excusing himself, the warrior hurried off across Cavern Hole, leaving Rose and Brome staring after him.

“Please tell me you saw the same thing I just saw,” Rose murmured.

Brome nodded slowly. “That’s Martin alright,” he said. “Although it was as though he had never met us before.”

“Trimp said he’s lost all his memories of his life before coming to Mossflower,” Rose said. She looked around for the hogmaid, but Trimp had vanished into the crowd. Several other noonvalers had begun to gather around Rose and Brome, however, most of them still staring at Martin as he ran about helping where he could. He was everywhere at once, it seemed. Helping the squirrels to light torches before rushing off to bring dishes from the kitchen. Rose tried not to stare, but she found herself following his every movement. Eventually it came time for the meal to begin, and a bell was rung to signal everybeast to their seats.

Martin sat at the main table to the right of an ancient mouse. “Abbess Germaine,” said Trimp, who had decided to sit next to Rose. Bella, the kindly badgermother, sat to Germaine’s left. Martin leaned close the Abbess as she said something to him. Trimp nudged Rose gently and whispered, “Martin’ll probably say grace. Abbess Germaine won’t be heard over the entire hall.” As Trimp had said, Martin stood and spread his paws for silence.

“Though the winter cold may be,

Warmth and happiness to thee,

Family and friends gathered here,

For a night of merriness and cheer,

Partake thee now of good food and drink,

But while you eat please do think,

Remember now those who fell,

As their story tonight we do tell,

The price of peace is heavy paid,

May their sacrifice not be in vain.”

A heavy silence followed the last words, until a dibbun sneezed and everybeast began to laugh and talk again. Rose could hardly believe the spread before her. She had seen feasts in Noonvale, but even those had not prepared her for a feast at Redwall. The food seemed endless. Plates piled high with slices of nut bread and oat rolls still hot from the over. Raspberry, blackberry, and mulberry scones drizzled with sugar glaze. Mushroom and onion flan. Goozeberry trifles. Savory soups. Rhubarb crisp. Deeper ‘n ever turnip ‘n tater ‘n beetroot pie. Even a cake frosted with meadowcream and decorated with crystalized fruits and flowers. And of course, plenty of drinks to accompany all the fine food. There was hot mint tea to warm cold paws. October ale. Elderberry wine.Raspberry cordial. Apple cider. There was a keg of cherry wine, although Rose avoided that one out of habit.

As the feasting began to slow, a pudgy mouse Trimp had called Gonff stepped out into the middle of the floor. He trilled a few notes on a reed flute before declaring, “Old friends and new, welcome to Redwall Abbey’s midwinter feasts. As you eat, please enjoy our tale of how Redwall came to be.” Raising his flute, he played a few more notes before returning to his seat.

A hedgehog who looked nearly as old as Abbess Germaine took the floor. “It was a cold winter,” he began. “Colder even than this, and made colder still by the rule of Verdauga Greeneyes. The wildcat king held Mossflower in an iron grip, daring anybeast to try and claim freedom while he reigned. Such was Mossflower on the day that a warrior wandered down from the north. A patrol of Kotir soldiers had just left my family’s hut when they came across him. A lone mouse carrying a sword. It was against Verdauga’s law to carry weapons, so the patrol captured him and took him to Kotir.” The old hedgehog broke off momentarily, chuckling to himself. “Although, it took six of them to do it.”

The hedgehog sat, and Gingivere took up the tale. He told of how Martin had been brought before his father, and consequently thrown into the Kotir dungeons. “In a fit of anger at being overruled,” he said, “My sister, Tsarmina, took Martin’s blade and snapped in two. She declared that he be thrown in the dungeon with the broken hilt hung about his neck.” Rose bit back a gasp. She recalled Martin’s desire to regain his father’s sword during their quest to Noonvale, and her heart went out to the warrior who had regained the sword only to lose it again. “My father was poisoned that very night,” Gingivere continued, “And my sister framed me for his murder. I was also thrown into the dungeons, though I was not allowed to speak to Martin. We would wait there until spring.”

Gonff took up the tale next, cartwheeling into the middle of floor with a grin plastered across his face. “And when spring came around, who should be traveling about the wood but m’ good self. Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves. I was out for a stroll in the woods, keeping careful watch, when a Kotir patrol spotted me.”

“You were pretending to fly a cloud,” Martin interrupted.

“Right,” Gonff said, “So as I was saying, I was pretending to fly a cloud when a Kotir patrol spotted me. I’d been liberating supplies from the Kotir larder, y’see, so they told me I was needed at Kotir. Didn’t give me much choice in the matter either, even though I told them it’d have to be another day.” Several audience members were chuckling now. “So, when we got to Kotir, they decided it would be easier to feed two prisoners at once, so they threw me into a cell my matey over there, Martin. O’ course, he wasn’t my matey yet since I ‘adn’t met him. The fool guards thought they’d make things easier on themselves, little did they know they’d made a terrible mistake. Y’see, my friends in the CORIM, the Council Of Resistance In Mossflower, weren’t about to let me rot in a Kotir cell, so they arranged a rescue for the next day at dawn.” Gonff went on to explain how he and Martin had escaped from the cell, followed by their mad dash through the palace.

Skipper stood next to tell of how the rescue party had whisked Martin and Gonff away to Camp Willow and of the battle between the Gloomer and Stormfin. He ended the tale for the night by explaining how Martin and Gonff had come to Brockhall, along with the arrival of the Loamhedge mice. The dibbuns began to protest almost before Skipper had finished talking. Crying out that they were not tired at all and that they wanted to hear what happened next. Rose was also on the edge of her seat, having sensed a tale of grand adventure.

Martin stood, laughing softly. “Don’t worry,” he told the dibbuns, “We’ll continue the story tomorrow evening. It’s late now, and you all must head to bed if you want to play in the snow in the morning.” This seemed to appease the dibbuns, who stopped shouting for the next part of the story.

Rose watched as a tiny mousemaid went up to Martin and tugged on his tunic. “Will you come up t’ the dorm’tories wiv us?” she asked. Martin grinned and swung the little maid up onto his shoulders.

“I will,” he said, “So long as you promise to go right to sleep.”

“Promise,” the mousemaid said.

Martin led the dibbuns up out of Cavern Hole, followed by a small procession of parents. Rose watched them go, smiling to herself. Perhaps Martin had forgotten his life in the north, but he certainly seemed happy enough here at Redwall.

Dirty dishes and leftover food were taken to the kitchen to be dealt with in the morning as creatures began to file out of the hall rubbing eyes and stifling yawns. Rose found herself in the company of a mousemaid called Sister Amyl who had offered to let Rose use the extra bed in her room off of Great Hall. Rose had readily accepted the offer once she realized that this meant fewer steps to climb. Amyl matched her pace as she made her way slowly up the steps to Great Hall. Martin was coming down the stairs from the dormitories as the entered the hall.

“Are the dibbuns asleep already,” Sister Amyl asked.

Martin shook his head. “They’re putting up a good pretense of it though. I’m sure they’ll be asleep soon enough. Oh, thank you Gonff.” Gonff had come up behind Rose and Amyl, carrying with him Martin’s cloak and sword.

“Figured you wouldn’t want t’ leave it inside overnight, matey,” Gonff said, handing Martin the sword.

“You’re right on that count, matey,” Martin said. He fastened the sword belt across his chest and took his cloak from Gonff. “G’night Gonff, Sister Amyl, Miss Rose,” he said. Fastening his cloak about his neck, he strode off toward the doors at the far end of the hall.

“Is he going to sleep outside?” Rose whispered to Sister Amyl.

Sister Amyl chucked. “No,” she said. “Martin sleeps in the gatehouse. He sleepwalks sometimes, so being in the gatehouse means he doesn’t wake anybeast else up.” Rose watched the small figure open the door to the wintery night. He was temporarily silhouetted against the snow, and then he was gone, trekking off into the white night. Rose wondered for a moment if that was what it had looked like when he left Poleekin’s house. Small and alone, going out in a wide world without anybeast to join him. “Rose,” Sister Amyl broke through Rose’s revery. “This way.”

The room was small, but cozy. Sister Amyl’s things were neatly organized on one side of the room, while the bed on the other side was bare. Rose set her traveling pack at the end of the bed and quickly slid into a nightshirt, shivering in the chill air. Drowsiness overcame her as she slipped between the covers and she was soon asleep, dreaming of cold northern winters and a mouse with warm grey eyes.


	2. Day 2 part 1

Rose awoke to the sound of Sister Amyl moving about the room. She was surprised that she had slept so soundly. Ever since Marshank, she'd had trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places without Martin around to keep watch. The realization of where she was and who she'd found the night before hit her almost as hard as she'd hit the wall at Marshank. She was glad that Sister Amyl wasn't looking, otherwise the kindly mousemaid might have seen the few tears that slipped down Rose's cheeks.

A quick brush of her paw was all it took to remove any trace of tears, and then she was up with a yawn and a stretch. Spending the night in a warm bed had done her joints good, she felt, allowing her to rise and dress without the aid of her crutches. She was tying on her headscarf when she noticed Sister Amyl's curious stare.

"I must apologize for being rude," Sister Amyl said, "But I couldn't help but notice the scar along the back of your neck."

Rose smiled at Sister Amyl. "I don't mind." Sitting down on edge of the bed, she explained. "Many seasons ago I became involved in a war near my home. A tyrant had lived on the coast, a few days journey from us, for many seasons. He was using slaves to build a fortress, with plans to rule the northeastern coast."

Sister Amyl nodded, and Rose recalled the tale from the night before. From what she'd heard, Tsarmina had set herself up to be an even worse tyrant than Badrang, although not quite as sound-minded.

Rose continued, "My brother was captured by the tyrant's horde one day while he was wandering, and I followed him to the fortress to try and rescue him..." She faltered for a moment, torn between explaining how she had met Martin or skipping over that fact and explaining it later. Realizing that Sister Amyl was still waiting for her to continue, she decided to leave out the part Martin had played. "That's when we realized it was only a matter of time before our home would be discovered. We joined with the slaves we freed, and many woodlanders, to fight back against the horde. We won, but the final battle claimed many lives. I very nearly died myself. The moles had dug a tunnel into the back of the fortress, and the tyrant thought he could use it as a way to escape. I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he threw me against the wall." Rose paused and looked at Sister Amyl, trying to gauge her reaction.

Sister Amyl gave Rose a strange look, but did not question her. Rose continued, "They actually did think I was dead at first. I can't blame them. My brother, Brome, was the only trained healer we had, and even he was inexperienced in dealing with war. He'd already lost so many creatures important to him, I think he must have convinced himself that I was dead too. In the end, it was his decision to take me back home that saved my life, otherwise I might have been buried alive. Brome had to cut my scalp open at the back to relieve the pressure from all the internal bleeding I suffered. By all rights I should have died that day. I got lucky instead."

"I see," Sister Amyl said. "I suppose you're a bit like our Martin, then." Rose looked up sharply, and Sister Amyl laughed softly before explaining. "Don't tell Gonff I told you. He likes to keep newcomers in the dark until the end of the tale during the fourth feast. Martin went off after Tsarmina on his own. Her troops were stranded on the other side of Kotir, but she was still dangerous and he was already injured. I'm told that Gonff thought he was dead when they found him, lying there in the mud unconscious and covered with blood. It's a miracle that he survived at all." She hesitated and looked at Rose. "I suppose that's why I don't find it hard to believe your story," she said. "I only saw the extent of Martin's wounds once, when I was helping Abbess Germaine tend to him, but it was terrible to see. I've never known any other creature to lay so long at death's door and still recover." She fell silent, and the two maids sat together for a moment before stirring.

Sister Amyl was first to rise, shaking her head as if to clear it. "Well," she said, "I suppose I'd best get on with my chores now. Holiday or not, there's still sheets to be washed and clothes to be folded."

"Is there anything I can do?" Rose said, standing. "I'd hate to sit around all day when others are working."

Sister Amyl smiled at her. "How are you with children?"

"I like children," Rose said, not entirely certain why Sister Amyl was asking.

"Good. Then you can help watch the dibbuns."  
********  
The dibbuns, Rose found, were waiting impatiently in great hall. Bella and Rowanoak stood at the far end of the hall, each with a paw on the door handles. They kept the door firmly shut against the pleading requests of the dibbuns.

"'Urry up an' open th' door Miz Bella!"

"Us'ns wanna go out an' play!"

"Burr, oi bain't afeared o' 'ee cold."

"Please Miz Bella! We'll stay out of the way, we promise!"

The last unlikely statement came from Gonfflet, whom Rose recognized from the night before. Bella shook her great striped head, chuckling at Gonfflet's statement. "The moment we open these door you lot will go tumbling out," she said. "You will wait until Foremole Dinny says the moles have finished packing down the snow and clearing the drifts. Then you may go out." This announcement was met by groans of frustration, and the shrill voice of a tiny mousemaid exclaiming loudly.

"We don' 'ave t' wait for da moles at 'ome!"

"You're not allowed out in the snow on your own anyway, miss Primrose," Rose said, recognizing the voice of her youngest niece. The little maid drooped visibly.

Sister Amyl came to stand next to Rose, frowning slightly. "I didn't realize that the dibbuns would be going outside first thing this morning, are you sure you're okay with watching them? Bella said something last night about the cold bothering your joints."

Rose smiled. "I'll wrap up nice and warm in a cloak," she said, "I should be fine then."

It did not take long before a knock was heard at the doors. Bella pulled her door ajar, and Foremole Dinny could be seen momentarily. Then the doors were flung open and dibbuns poured out onto the white snow. It was a winter wonderland the likes of which Rose had not seen in many seasons. The snow in front of the doors had been pushed to the side and packed down to make a safe space for the dibbuns to play without fear of losing any little ones to deep snow. The sky was clear, though a gentle shower of snow fell from where the wind blew it off the roof. Icicles sparkled in the sunlight, and frost patterned the stained glass windows on the side of great hall. Already the dibbuns were racing about, sliding across the snow on their bellies, jumping off small hillocks into drifts the moles had left untouched, and making plenty of snowballs to throw at each other.

Rose had just settled down on the front steps, wrapped in as many blankets and cloaks as Sister Amyl had been able to to find, when she spotted a familiar face. "Grumm," she called. The stout little mole turned at the sound of her voice, black eyes twinkling as he made his way through the dibbuns to the steps.

"G'mornin' Miz Rozer," Grumm said, tugging his snout.

"Good morning, Grumm," Rose said. "I didn't know you were out and about already."

Grumm smiled, gesturing to the scene before them with a hefty digging claw. "Oi joined ee molers t' clear 'way 'ee snow fer 'ee babbies, bur."

"They certainly seem to be enjoying themselves." She couldn't help but smile as she watched the young woodlanders play. Another mole, slightly shorter than Grumm, came to join them at the steps.

"G'day to 'ee zur, marm," he said.

"G'day to 'ee, zur," Grumm said, tugging his snout.

"Be you'm coomin' in wi' ee travelin' players las' noight?" the mole asked.

Rose nodded. "We were passing by the Gingivere farm just as they were heading out, so they asked us if we would like to join them." She smiled at the mole. "My name is Rose, and this is Grumm."

"Oi be Dinny," Dinny said. He turned to Grumm. "Thankee fer thoi 'elp clearin' 'ee snow."

"Et were moi pleasure," Grumm said.

Dinny grinned. "May'aps you'm c'n 'elp oi wi' clearin' a bit more snow? Et's driftered into turrible 'igh piles boi 'ee wall."

"Oi'd be 'appy to," Grumm said. The two moles waddled off, leaving Rose with her thoughts and the dibbuns.

The dibbuns were rather well behaved, Rose found. Though they pelted each other with snow, nobeast came to any harm. A few of the older dibbuns had begun pushing their younger comrades around in makeshift sleds. Keyla and Tulgrew's three sons, Felldoh, Hillgorse, and Juniper, had already made several new friends, and were running about as though they'd lived at Redwall their entire lives.

Rose did not notice the moles returning until the dibbuns set up a cry.

"Th' moles are back!"

"Alla snow be clearered 'way?"

"G'mornin' Unca Martin."

"Uncle Martin! Did you see the snowball I threw at Perrin?"

"Did you bring it, Uncle Martin?"

"Did you, Uncle Martin? Did you?"

Rose was not surprised to see Gonfflet and Chugger emerge from the crowd of dibbuns to walk behind Martin, clearly curious about whatever he was carrying. The warrior chuckled and continued walking toward the steps. He was carrying something under his cloak, though Rose could not make out what it was. "Good morning," she said when he reached the steps, accompanied by Dinny and Grumm, along with a host of dibbuns.

"Good morning, Miss Rose." Martin nodded to her. "Are you out here supervising the dibbuns?"

"I am," Rose said. "I didn't see you earlier, were you helping the moles clear away the snow?" She spared a glance toward the dibbuns, who were now crowding around behind Martin. Several were hopping on their toes in anticipation, and Rose could see a twinkle in Martin's eye. He was purposefully ignoring the babes to heighten the suspense of whatever he had brought with him, something Keyla did on a regular basis.

Dinny chuckled. "Burr, no marm. Marthen were stuck in 'ee gatehouse, buried by 'ee snow. We'm just dug 'im out."

Martin sighed and shook his head. "Looks like I'll be moving indoors for the winter if the snow keeps falling like it has." He began unstrapping his sword, which he was wearing across the back of his cloak. Taking it carefully from his back, he set it down next to Rose.

Rose allowed herself a brief glance at the sword. She'd never seen it up close before. The ruby set into the pommel caught her eye almost immediately. It was a deep blood-red, cut so that it reflected the light no matter how one looked at it. It was, Rose decided, the most impressive feature of the sword that she could see, although she could not compare it to the blade as it was sheathed in a scabbard of hard black leather. She felt a strange detachment, trying to reconcile that the sword Martin had sought after for so long was now sitting next to her on the steps.

Dinny nodded knowingly to Martin. "Oi'll tell Miz Belle tha' you'm'll be movin' in'o 'ee cellar in 'ee evenin'," he said. "We'm c'n move thoi things t'morrow."

"Thank you, Din," Martin said. He waved briefly to the moles as they trundled inside, then turned to face the crowd of dibbuns. "Well now," he said, smiling. "What could you all be waiting for? Is there somebeast still inside?"

Gonfflet ran forward, practically vibrating in anticipation. "Did you bring the shield?" he cried.

Martin laughed and pulled the bulky item from under his cloak. "I certainly did," he said. The shield was small and round with a simple design. The only real ornament was the large 'M' emblazoned on the front. Rose could see two straps attached to the back of the shield, presumably for holding on to it in battle. Martin had been carrying the shield with a rope strung through the two straps and tied in a loose circle which he slung over his shoulder. After removing his cloak, Martin untied the rope and set the shield upside-down on the snow. "Who wants to go first?" he said.

Scattered whispers broke out among the dibbuns as they dared each other to be the first on the shield until Chugger settled the matter. The young squirrel settled himself in the middle of the shield with his paws locked firmly into the arm straps. "I'm ready, Uncle Martin," he said. Martin nodded, then suddenly set off at a run, towing the shield and Chugger behind him. Chugger whooped and hollered, yelling for Martin to go faster. They circled around the area the moles had packed down, snow flying everywhere, before coming to a stop next to the steps. Chugger rolled off, still laughing as a little hedgehog climbed onto the shield. Martin made certain the babe had a tight grip on the straps, then he took off again on his circuit around the main lawn.

It seemed that this was a traditional midwinter game. Every dibbun who was old enough to recall the winter before hurried to fill in the newcomers on what to hold on to and why. Martin made round after round on the packed snow, sometimes towing two, or even three little ones on the shield. Rose could not help but laugh with the dibbuns. They were thoroughly enjoying themselves, as was Martin, it seemed. The warrior mouse joined in with the laughter and hollering, sometimes calling out when he was about to turn and other times just veering sideways suddenly. He always called the turn when the littlest dibbuns were on the shield, though.

Finally, after what had to be Chugger's fifth ride, Martin stopped and sat down on the steps next to Rose, saying, "Go off and play for a while, you lot. I need to catch my breath." The dibbuns obeyed, running back to whatever games they had been playing before Martin joined them. All except Keyla and Tulgrew's sons and Chugger, who still lay laughing in the snow.

Felldoh, the eldest of the three otters, bounded up to Martin. He stood watching the warrior mouse catch his breath before asking, "Why does everybeast call you uncle?"

His brother, Juniper, joined him. "Chug was calling you Uncle last night, too," he said. "Why? You're obviously not his uncle."

Martin, who was no longer gasping for breath, chuckled and said, "Chugger's the one who started it. Why don't you ask him?"

The three otters turned to look at the squirrel, who was still on the ground laughing. Mayflower, Keyla and Tulgrew's daughter, came over to join Martin and Rose on the steps, looking on curiously as her brothers approached Chugger.

It took Chugger a few moments to get her laughter under control, and even then he would break into giggles every few words. "Ahahahahaha. Martin's the one who suggested it. Hehehehehe. My parents were gone when he found me, hahaha. Hehehe, so since Martin doesn't have a family, hahahahahaha,and I don't have a family, hehehehehe, I decided he was going to be my uncle. Hahahaha, isn't that right, Uncle Martin!"

Martin nodded, shaking his head at the chuckling squirrel. "Most of the other dibbuns picked it up from him," he said.

Mayflower nodded, having caught onto what her brothers were asking about. "I see," she said. "So it's like how we all call Auntie Rose 'Auntie', even though she isn't really our auntie."

"Can we call you Uncle Martin, too?" Felldoh asked.

Martin shrugged. "I don't mind," he said.

"Uncle Martin," Juniper began chanting as he spun around in the snow. "Uncle Martin. Uncle Martin."

Martin turned to Hillgorse, who was frowning slightly. "You don't look convinced."

Hillgorse shook his head. "Chug also told us that he's got four grandpas, but that's impossible."

Martin grinned. "No, he's right. Chugger does indeed have four grandfathers."

Now it was Rose's turn to be sceptical. "How in the name of seasons did he manage that?"

"He's an orphan," Martin answered. "I was part of a group that traveled to the north the summer before last. We found Chugger during our journey, and of course we couldn't leave a toddler on his own in the forest. Chugger's been creating his own family ever since."

"I suppose that makes sense," Hillgorse said. "Why were you in the north?"

Martin's smile seemed to falter slightly, and Rose noticed a far away look in his eyes. "I was born in the north, but I came south when I was very young. I decided it was time that I found out what had happened to my tribe, so a group of us went north."

"You're from the north?" Juniper asked, still spinning. Martin nodded. The young otter came to a sudden halt and hopped up on the step between Martin and Rose. "Uncle Martin," he said, suddenly serious, "Have you ever met Auntie Rose before?"

Rose was taken aback by the sudden question, but Martin took it in stride. "You'd have to ask her," he said. "I don't remember meeting her before, but that doesn't mean that I haven't." Rose nearly choked on air, frantically reminding herself that Martin did not remember his time in the north.

"Why's that?" Mayflower asked.

"I can't remember much of my life from before coming to Mossflower," Martin answered. He stared vacantly at his paws for a moment, before turning to smile at Rose and say, "Though I would certainly hope never to forget such a pretty face as yours."

Rose couldn't help herself, she blushed. Martin was up and off to play with the dibbuns again before she could respond. Felldoh, Hillgorse, Juniper, and Chugger bounded off after him, laughing and cheering. Mayflower stayed behind, eyeing Rose suspiciously. "He likes you," she said.

Rose blushed even more. "I'm sure it's not that," she said quickly. Mayflower shook her head, and went off to join the others.

Left alone on the steps, Rose tried to cool her burning cheeks. It had been seasons since she had allowed herself to think finding Martin, but nothing she had imagined had prepared her for this. There was the sound of the door opening behind her, and then Brome was standing next to her.

"How is it that you always end up watching the dibbuns?" he asked, chuckling.

Rose nodded noncommittally. It wasn't as if Brome didn't know the answer. She was good with dibbuns, so she had become the go to for many parents in Noonvale.

Brome wasn't taking her silence for an answer. "Alright, spit it out, Rose."

Rose shook her head and looked at him as he sat down next to her. "Spit what out?"

"You didn't even notice Primrose falling into the snowbank just now, and you're staring at the battlements as though you want to fight them. What's wrong?"

Rose sighed. "I fell in love with a memory, and it's come back to haunt me," she said.

"Martin?" Brome nodded at the warrior mouse, who was engaged in an unevenly matched snowball fight.

"It's been 22 seasons, Brome," Rose said. "Besides that, he doesn't even remember me."

Brome let the silence hang between them for a long moment as they watched Gonfflet and Chugger team up with Felldoh, Hillgorse, and Juniper. "You've never shown interest in anybeast else," he said finally.

Rose shook her head. "I knew him for 14 days, Brome. Every scenario I've imagined has been based on those 14 days." She sighed. "We're not the same mice who met at Marshank. I've changed since that summer, so have you, and so has Martin. He was so serious then, so full of pent up anger and rage. But now," she paused to watch the snowball fight, "Now he seems so happy. I've never seen him smile like that before."

Brome nodded. "He certainly does seem happy here," he murmured. "Do you think it would be right of us? To make him remember all the horrible things about Marshank?"

Rose sighed. "I don't know," she said.

There was a shout from the lawn, and the two mice looked up in time to see Tintin nail Martin in the face with a snowball. Martin sat down hard, brushing snow from his face with a dazed expression. Little Primrose ran up to him, trying valiantly to return her brother's snowball. The little snowball fell to the ground before crossing half the distance. Shaking his head to clear it, Martin swung Primrose onto his shoulders and took off after Tintin.

Brome shook his head and smiled. "How could Papa have ever thought Martin was a threat?" he said.

"He didn't know Martin," Rose answered simply. "I don't think either of us truly knew him either. We only knew him while he was preoccupied with rescuing the other slaves. We never saw him during peacetime."

Gonfflet and Chugger had joined up with Tintin and pounced on Martin from behind. The warrior mouse fell face first into the snow, tossing Primrose into a snowdrift where she landed harmlessly rather than being crushed beneath the falling adult. The dibbuns were upon him immediately, burying him under the snow.

With a sigh, Brome stood, calling out over the chaos, "Breakfast time."

The dibbuns left off burying Martin in a mad scramble to the doors, tripping over tails, cloaks, and footpaws in their hurry. Brome was swept inside with the first wave, yelling for the dibbuns to take off their cloaks before descending on cavern hole. Rose watched them go, laughing at the harmless fun of the youngsters before she started to gather up the cloaks and blankets wrapped around her. She jumped at the sound of Martin resurfacing from the pile the dibbuns had buried him under, shaking his head to rid himself of snow. Chuckling quietly, he made his way over to the snowdrift where Primrose was still sitting. The little maid giggled as he pulled her from the snow and carried her over to the steps, where Rose, Gonfflet, and Chugger were waiting for them.

Rose shook her head as she gathered the last of the blankets. Martin certainly hadn't been so carefree when she knew him before, but she was glad that he had been able to adjust to a peaceful life. Bracing herself against the steps, she pushed upward. Pain shot through her footpaws and she fell back with a gasp, dropping the blankets and clutching her aching limbs.

"Are you alright?" Martin asked. He hurried forward, setting Primrose on the step and kneeling down.

"I'll be fine," Rose gritted out from between clenched teeth. She paused a moment to compose herself, then said, "You go on ahead, I'll be down soon."

"Are yore footpaws 'urting agin, Auntie Rose?" Primrose asked.

Rose nodded. "I'll be fine," she repeated.

Martin did not look convinced. "Chugger, can you carry my shield?" he said to the young squirrel. Chugger nodded and took the shield. Martin picked up the cloaks Rose had dropped and handed them to Gonfflet, together with Rose's crutches, then began buckling on his sword.

"What are you doing?" Rose asked, watching her crutches disappear from her reach.

Before she could react, Martin had scooped her up, carrying her indoors with Chugger, Gonfflet, and Primrose following behind. Once inside, he leaned against the heavy doors until they closed, then carefully set Rose down so that her back was against the wall. Chugger and Gonfflet waited a few moments, until Martin told them, "Go on ahead, we'll catch up in a minute." The two youngsters nodded and left after depositing their things next to Martin, although Primrose stayed behind. Martin watched them go, then turned to Rose and began rubbing the life back into her footpaws. Rose winced as pins and needles prickled her footpaws, but it seemed to be helping. After a few minutes, Martin stopped and helped her to stand. "How's that?" he asked, handing the crutches to her.

"Still a bit sore." Rose took the crutches and leaned on them. She gave Martin a small smile. "It's better, though. Thank you."

Primrose tugged on Martin's tunic. "'ow'd you know wha' t' do?" she asked.

Martin smiled at her. "I had to learn a few seasons ago. The cold tends to set into the bones after a creature's been wounded."

"You been 'urt like Auntie b'fore?" The little maid stared at the warrior with wide eyes.

Martin knelt so that he was level with Primrose. "I have," he said quietly. "War is a terrible thing, even when fought for a just cause. The scars of war can stay with a creature for long seasons after, sometimes for the rest of their lives."

Primrose tilted her head to the side. "If it 'urts you, den why'd ya fight?"

Martin ruffled her ears gently with his paw. "I fought so that youngsters like you could have a better life," he said. "My scars hurt from time to time, but it's worth it when I see dibbuns growing up happy and free."

Primrose nodded, as though deciding that this was a good answer. As Martin stood, she pointed to the sword strapped across his back. "D' you still fight?"

Martin shook his head, retrieving his shield from where Chugger had set it against the wall and hanging it from his sword belt. "Not anymore. I gave up the warrior's life last winter."

"Why?" Primrose wanted to know.

"Mossflower is peaceful now," Martin explained. "We have no need of battles and wars." Primrose considered this, then opened her mouth to speak. She was interrupted by a loud growl from her stomach. Martin chuckled. "It sounds like we're overdue at breakfast," he said. Together, he and Rose folded the blankets and cloaks, then placed them in an alcove to be put away later.

Primrose tugged on Martin's tunic again, this time holding her arms up. "Up please," she said.

"Primrose," Rose scolded, "You're old enough to walk on your own."

Martin swung the little maid onto his shoulders, laughing gently. "She's still small enough to be carried." The three mice crossed great hall with Rose's laughter ringing about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Scourge Daughter for her help with beta reading. This story would not be nearly so good without her help.


	3. Day 2 part 2

Cavern Hole was teaming with activity, even more so than usual with the arrival of travelers. Martin paused at the bottom of the stairs to wait for Rose as she slowly descended the last two steps. He wondered briefly if she had noticed the hollow sound her crutches had made on the middle step, then dismissed the thought. In all the seasons since the moles had dug the secret tunnel beneath the stairs, nobeast had mentioned anything out of the ordinary. Martin was sure that the only other creatures who knew of the hidden tomb were the leaders of the Corim, Gonff, and himself.

Rose swung down off the final step and looked around. "Primrose," she said, "Do you see your father anywhere?"

Primrose glanced briefly around Cavern Hole, then returned to playing with Martin's ears. "Nope."

Martin chuckled. "I'm sure we can find him," he said. The words were barely out of his mouth when he spotted Lady Amber weaving her way through the crowd.

"Martin," she called over the hubbub of voices, "We were beginning to wonder if you'd gotten yourself lost on the way to breakfast. Where've you been?"

"Playin' wiv us inna snow," Primrose answered before Martin could say anything.

"Was he now?" Lady Amber said, joining them. "And who might you be, little miss?"

Primrose fell silent and ducked down as though to hide behind Martin's ears. Rose chuckled. "This is my niece, Primrose. She's a bit shy sometimes."

Martin looked at her curiously. "Really?" He reached up and tickled Primrose, eliciting a giggle from the little maid. "You could've fooled me."

"You seem to be the exception," Rose explained.

Lady Amber nodded. "Sounds like our Martin. I don't know how he does it, but I've yet to meet a dibbun he couldn't befriend." She smiled at Primrose, then turned to Rose. "Hm. You must be Rose."

Rose looked mildly surprised. "I am," she said. "How did you know?"

"Brome and his wife are sitting with us for breakfast," Amber said. "He's been keeping an eye out for you. By the way, I'm Lady Amber."

"Pleased to meet you, Lady Amber." Rose dropped into a shallow curtsy. Amber returned the curtsy with a quick bow, one paw automatically going to her crown to keep it from falling.

"You say Brome's sitting at the head table with us?" Martin asked.

"Aye, so he is," Lady Amber said. "Him and his wife, along with Rowanoak and Ballaw."

Martin nodded. "Could you show Rose to the table? I've got to stop down in the kitchens."

"'Course I can," Lady Amber flashed a broad smile.

Martin glanced up at Primrose. "Time to get down, miss."

"No!" Primrose cried, locking her paws around Martin's head.

Rose tried to reason with the little maid. "You need to come to breakfast, Primrose."

"Wanna go wiv Unca Martin!" Primrose insisted.

Martin tried another tactic. "Your parents are waiting for you." Primrose shook her head vigorously and held on tighter.

"Martin," Lady Amber broke in, "You're joining us at the table after you visit the kitchens, right?"

"I am," Martin said, trying to unlatch Primrose's paws.

"Then how's about you take young Primrose with you to the kitchens. Rose and I'll go to the the table and tell Brome and his wife that Primrose'll be along shortly."

"Yay!" Primrose cried, finally releasing Martin's ears.

Martin and Rose exchanged a glance. "I suppose that'll work," Rose said, "So long as Martin doesn't mind."

Martin nodded and rubbed his ears. "I don't mind."

"Then that's settled." Lady Amber grinned and held a paw out to Rose. "We'll see you two in a bit." She headed off with Rose following.

Martin glanced up at Primrose. "Well now, shall we be off to the kitchens?" Primrose nodded and giggled. "Then off we go."

* * *

The kitchen was relatively quiet as most of the cooks had gone to eat breakfast in Cavern Hole. Martin smiled when he saw the two who had stayed behind. "Good morning, Goody, Columbine," he said.

"Good morning, Martin," Columbine said without turning from the bread she was slicing.

Martin lifted Primrose down from his shoulders, and went to help Goody take a pie out of the oven. The aging hogwife waited until the pie was set off to the side to cool and the oven door closed before speaking. "Good mornin' to you, Martin. You've come to get your mornin' tea, no doubt. Oh, and you've brought a liddle friend along with you. Good mornin', liddle-un. What're you called?" Primrose hid behind Martin, peering cautiously around him at Goody. Martin smiled, but said nothing. Goody's spikes had gone grey with age and she needed spectacles to see, but her charm had not faded in the slightest since Martin had arrived in Mossflower.

Sure enough, it took only a few moments before Primrose stepped out from behind Martin and quietly introduced herself. "I'm Primrose." One small paw still clutched the edge of Martin's tunic, while the other toyed with the end of her tail.

Goody smiled gently at the little maid. "A pleasure to meet you, Primrose." She bent down to Primrose's eye level and whispered in a secretive voice, "Would you like some warm greensap milk with 'oney in it?"

Primrose nodded. "Yes please."

Goody smiled and turned to Martin. "Your tea's on the table over there. I made two cups seein' as Sister Amyl said one of the maids visitin' could use a bit too. I'll be just a moment 'eatin' up some milk fer Primrose and pourin' a bit o' tea for the Abbess."

Martin patted Goody's paw and went to get a tray. "Take your time, Goody. We're in no rush." Primrose followed him into the panty, releasing his tunic in favor of his tail, which she held tightly between both paws. Martin did not mind. It let him know where the little maid was, after all, so that he could not lose her. They emerged from the pantry just as Columbine was hanging up her apron.

"I'm headed up to breakfast," the mousewife called back to Goody. "I'll be back shortly."

Goody waggled a paw at her. "You need to spend some time with that 'usband 'n' son of yours. I've got the duty cooks to 'elp me with the rest o' the food."

Columbine paused partway through the doors. "Are you sure, Goody?"

"I'm certain," Goody said, turning back to the stove.

"Then I'll be on my way." Columbine waved a quick goodbye and hurried out. Goody nodded to herself, stirring a small pot of greensap milk before removing a steaming kettle from the stove and pouring the warm, dark liquid into a waiting mug.

"'Ave you got a tray?" she asked as Martin came up behind her.

"Right here, Goody," Martin said, setting the tray on the table.

Goody nodded again and placed the mug on the tray. "That'n's one o' my favorites. Came out just right with the liddle roses around the edge. It was my Posy's idea, you know, to make it with the roses."

Martin nodded. He gathered the two other mugs of tea and placed them on the tray next to the mug already there. "It's one of my favorites too," he said. The fell into a companionable silence. Primrose climbed onto one of the stools to see the tray while Goody stirred the milk. It did not take long before the thick, white liquid began to steam and Goody declared it was ready for honey. Primrose bounced on her toes as the honey was added and the mixture was poured into a mug.

Martin started to put the fourth mug on the tray, then stopped and turned to Primrose. "Would you like me to carry it, or do you want to hold it?"

"I c'n hold it," Primrose assured him.

"Very well then." Martin handed her the mug. He picked up the tray and turned to Goody. "Will we see you at breakfast?"

Goody shook her head, grey headspikes rattling together. "I've already 'ad my breakfast," she said, "I'll see you two at the feast t'night."

Martin smiled and headed for the door. "We'll see you tonight, then. Thank you, Goody."

"Thankee, Mrs. Goody," Primrose echoed.

Goody shook her head again and smiled. "'Urry up to breakfast you two and get some food. Oh, and tell Columbine that if'n I see 'er in 'ere again 'afore dinnertime I'll ban 'er from the kitchens," she called after them.

* * *

Breakfast conversation echoed around Cavern Hole as Martin and Primrose made their way to the head table. Martin walked slowly, balancing the tray of tea while keeping pace with Primrose, who was concentrating on not spilling. She placed each footpaw carefully as though the stone might slide out from under her. Martin had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the adorable scene. He allowed himself a small smile, though. Primrose was a perfect reminder, it seemed, of why he had fought in the Mossflower war. True, she had not been born in Mossflower and was only a passing traveler; but her family likely would not have visited were Mossflower still under the rule of Tsarmina.

"Hoi, Martin, there you are." Gonff's cry was the first to greet them as they reached the table.

"Here we are," Martin said, setting his tray on the table and turning to help Primrose into her seat. The little maid was soon settled between Rose and Brome, happily munching on a bilberry scone.

"Good morning, Martin," Abbess Germaine said, her wavering voice barely audible over the sounds of the hall.

Martin set her tea in front of her and planted a gentle kiss on her brow. "Good morning, Mother Abbess." After unbelting his sword and shield. he took his seat, removing his own tea from the little tray and handing the third mug to Rose, who was seated next to him. "Our cook, Goody Stickle makes this," he told her, "It's mint tea with honey and who knows what mixed in. Tastes a bit funny, but I've found it works rather well to battle the cold."

Rose accepted the mug with a small smile. "Thank you." She nodded to Primrose. "Thank you for getting something for her as well."

Martin returned her smile. "That one was all Goody. She mothers every dibbun she meets, and even some adults as well."

"It certainly didn't do you any harm to 'ave an extra mother or two around after the war, mate," Gonff chuckled from his seat across the table.

Martin joined in his friend's laughter. "I s'pose you're right on that account. Say," he glanced around, "where's Gonfflet? He came in to breakfast ahead of us."

Gonff swiped an oatcake off Martin's plate and used it to gesture toward one of the other tables. "He an' Chugger are sittin' over there with the family o' otters that were travelin' with this lot. Er, Keya and Tuggow, or somethin' like that. Didn't catch the names properly."

"Keyla and Tullgrew," Martin corrected without thinking.

Gonff gave him a funny look. "Aye, that was them. 'Ow'd you know?"

Martin stared at his plate, barely noticing when Gonff swiped a second oatcake. How had he known what their names were? He couldn't recall meeting them, although he'd certainly seen them the night before. Finally, he gave the only reasonable answer he could think of. "I must've heard their names last night."

"You probably did," Brome reassured him.

Martin nodded, but continued to frown. Bella reached over Abbess Germaine and ruffled his ears, saying, "Eat your breakfast and don't think about it too hard, little warrior. It'll come to you in time."

"I'm sure it will, old friend." Martin shook himself and grinned, pulling the basket of scones closer before Gonff could snatch another one. He selected a wheat scone, then turned to the guests with a sheepish smile on his face. "I'm sorry, but I've got a terrible feeling I interrupted something when I came to the table."

"Brome was just about to tell us how the Rambling Rosehip Players came to be in Mossflower this winter," Bella said, simultaneously slapping Gonff's paw away from her plate.

"Pish tosh. Nothing to apologize for young sir-me-warrior," the hare to Gonff's left said. "How were you to bally well know we were swapping tales, eh? I say, d'you mind passing that leek pastie sittin' in front o' the good Abbess? Thank you very much, wot wot."

Martin slid the pastie over to the friendly hare. "You've welcome, sir."

The hare snorted and flopped his ears comically. "Sir? Sir who? The name's Ballaw de Quincewold, laddybuck, not sir."

"Beg pardon sir, er, Ballaw," Martin said, chuckling. He held out a paw. "I'm Martin the Warrior."

Ballaw glanced up from the pastie long enough to give Martin's paw a firm shake and say, "Martin the Warrior, eh? I should certainly hope you're a warrior, what with that big ol' sword you've got there. Wouldn't want something like that in the paws of somebeast called, oh, say 'Fred the Fisher'. No, a blade like that belongs in the paws of a real warrior. Mph, this pastie is absolutely superb, I must be sure to thank the cook."

Brome cleared his throat loudly, looking pointedly at Ballaw. Ballaw waved a paw at him. "Don't let me stop you from talking old lad. I'll sit quiet." He fell quiet for a moment, then, just as Brome was opening his mouth to speak, said, "I say. We might as well finish the introductions first, wot. Madam badger there is the good Lady Rowanoak, fellow head of the Rambling Rosehip Players. Rose and Primrose you've met. The mouse on the other side of sir fuss-tail is his lovely wife, Lavender. And then, of course, we have sir fuss-tail himself, Brome Voh."

"Pleased to meet you all," Martin said, nodding to the newly introduced guests.

"If you're quite finished, Ballaw?" The tip of Brome's tail twitched side to side as he again stared pointedly at Ballaw.

Ballaw didn't seem to notice Brome's irritation as he returned to his pastie. "Quite finished indeed, old lad."

Brome waited a moment, as though to see if Ballaw would start talking once again. But when the hare continued to eat he turned and began his narrative. "We left Noonvale, our home by the northeastern shore, as soon as the snow had melted early last spring. Ballaw and Rowanoak are planning to retire once we return to Noonvale, so we decided to make the most of the trip and see how many old friends we could visit. A friend of ours, Barkjon, is acting chieftain in Noonvale until we get back, although I don't think he expected us to be away quite this long."

Lady Amber, who had been quiet until now, nodded and asked, "So what brought you to Mossflower, then? I don't recall ever seeing your troupe pass through this area before, though I wouldn't've minded if you had."

Lavender, Brome's wife, piped up before her husband had a chance to speak. "They've come south lookin' for a friend o' theirs who traveled this way after 'elpin' them in the Marshank siege."

Martin winced as a sharp jolt of pain shot through his back. Gonff gave him a concerned look. "You alright there, mate?"

Martin nodded. "Aye, Gonff, I'm alright. Must've pulled a muscle in my back towing those dibbuns around." He turned to Brome. "Sorry for interrupting. Have you had any luck in locating your friend?"

Brome and Rose exchanged a look before Brome responded. "Nothing conclusive, I'm afraid." A heavy silence fell over the table. Martin stared at his plate, trying to shake the feeling that he'd heard Brome's story before. He was so lost in thought that he almost missed Rose's question.

"I've just noticed the carvings on your chairs," she said, indicating the chairs of Martin, Abbess Germaine, and Bella. "I hope you don't mind my asking what they mean?"

Bella chuckled. "Not at all. These chairs were a gift from some otter friends of ours, one chair for each of the founders of Redwall."

"Is that why they've got your names on them?" Rose pointed to the lettering that decorated the top of each chair back.

Bella nodded. "It is indeed, miss. You can read the Mossflower alphabet, then?"

"Yes. Lavender's family used to live on the outskirts of Mossflower, so I've learned the basics from her," Rose explained. "I was guessing that Abbess Germaine's chair had her name on it, since I can't read that one."

"That one's done in loamscript," said Columbine. She flicked Gonff's paw away from her plate, then looked over to Rose with a smile. "Each name is done in the alphabet used in the founder's birthplace. Hence, loamscript for Abbess Germaine, common woodlander for Bella, and northern runes for Martin."

Lavender leaned on the table, peering down the row to Martin. "So you're from the north, Martin?"

Martin nodded. "I was born on the western shore, though, not the eastern shore."

"Is that what's depicted on the bottom of your chair?" Rose motioned to the intricately carved figures that decorated the lower portion of the chair. Tiny, detailed figures stood out against the scenery.

Martin smiled as he thought of the care the holt of Tungro had gone to in order to properly portray his upbringing in the north. The faces of the figures were rather indistinct, as they only had the descriptions of Vurg, Denno, and Dulam to reference for his tribe. "It is," he told Rose.

"So you're one of the founders of this lovely abbey?" Rowanoak asked. The badger appeared mildly surprised, as though she'd not considered the idea.

"Who would've thought a warrior could help found an abbey, eh?" Martin said. He almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement, recalling briefly his own reaction when Abbess Germaine and Bella had asked for his help. He'd been younger then, still feeling the pull of wanderlust but not yet strong enough to strike out on his own again. _I'll stay until the walls are built_ , he'd promised. How foolish he'd been to think that he'd ever want to leave Redwall.

Gonff must have noticed his expression, for the ever carefree little thief laughed and turned to Rowanoak. "Abbess Germaine had the idea, Miz Bella had the support, an' Martin knew how t' build it. Well, that, and he had all sorts o' ideas on how to make the abbey safer in case it's ever attacked, even became our main architect. Though good luck to the beast what tries readin' his notes. Martin knows how to write loamscript, common woodlander, and northern runes, and o' course he writes his notes in runes."

"Just because I can read and write common woodlander, it doesn't mean it's the easiest thing for me to write," Martin said. He reached for another scone only to find the basket empty and Gonff grinning at him over three freshly swiped scones. Martin didn't bother to say anything, merely flicked a piece of chestnut as Gonff's nose. Columbine giggled at the face Gonff pulled, then proceed to give Martin one of the scones.

"Why is the back of your chair blank, Martin?" Lavender asked. She pointed to the back of the chair, which was indeed blank, with naught but the grain of the wood for decoration.

Martin had just taken a bite of his scone, so Bella answered for him. "Martin never told us much about his life before coming to Mossflower, so when he lost his memory after the Mossflower War nobeast could tell him anything about his past. We've got a record now of his first five seasons, courtesy of Vurg, Denno, and Dulam. But not even Martin knows what took place in the eight or so seasons between his father leaving the tribe and his own arrival in Mossflower."

"I see," Lavender said. She sat back, pushing her empty plate away. "I don't know about anybeast else, but I'm stuffed after that fine breakfast."

Lady Amber stood and began gathering empty plates. "Good. Midwinter feasts mean late, large breakfast followed by an early start to the feast. It gives the cooks a bit more time to prepare since there's no lunch in between."

"Speaking of cooks," Martin cut in, "Columbine, Goody asked me to tell you that if she sees you in the kitchen again before dinnertime, then she's going to ban you from the kitchens for a while."

Columbine grinned and shook her head. "Thank you for the warning."

"You're welcome." Martin had just started helping to clear the dishes when Amber pulled the plates from his paws and waggled a claw at him.

"It's a feast day," she said, "That means no work for you. You work too hard as it is."

"Surely carrying dishes to the kitchen isn't to much of a chore," Martin protested. He was pushed back into his seat by Bella.

"We all know you'd end up helping to wash as well and then volunteer to assist in the kitchen, Martin. You need to take a break every now and again." The aging badgermother looked down at Martin until he finally sighed and nodded his consent.

"Alright, Bella, you win. I suppose I'll just have to find something else to do."

"Why not give Rose a tour of Redwall?" Amber suggested. "Seeing as she missed the one before breakfast."

Martin considered the idea. He certainly wouldn't mind showing the pretty maid around the abbey if she wanted, but he didn't want to push her too hard if her footpaws were still sore. "What do you think?" he asked Rose.

Rose smiled at him, her hazel eyes lighting up. "I'd love to see the abbey."

"It's settled then," Bella said. She winked at Rose. "Martin's the best one to show you around, really. He knows all the hidden details of the abbey."

Martin chuckled and stood, helping Rose from her seat. "Shall we begin then, miss?"

"If you're ready," Rose said.

The left Cavern Hole together, Martin matching Rose's pace as he talked. He showed her Great Hall first, explaining how the single hall had taken them nearly a season to complete because of its height. Rose looked about in wonder, asking a question or two whenever Martin skipped something. He found himself smiling more and more as he led her through the dormitories and storerooms. It seemed that no room was too small to be of interest. Rose marveled over the smallest details, from the woodwork in the upper dormitories, to the little figures carved along the hallways, to the built-in shelves in the small but cozy library.

* * *

Brome Voh, chieftain of Noonvale, sat watching his daughters play with their mother. The three of them tumbled around Cavern Hole smiling and laughing. Brome smiled at them absentmindedly, not really paying attention to their play. He was lost in thought, memories of Marshank rolling together with the conversation at breakfast. Like Rose, he'd given up hope of finding Martin many seasons ago, choosing instead to move on with his life. He'd focused his time on his family and Noonvale, throwing himself wholeheartedly into his role as chief. Martin had faded into a memory, a creature he'd once known who had done much to shape his view of the world. Brome hadn't forgotten Martin, of course, he'd even named his son after the warrior mouse, but he had given up on seeing him again.

"Is somethin' on your mind, Brome?" Lavender asked, coming to sit next to him. Brome turned to look at his wife, smiling gently at the concern in her clear blue eyes. He recalled, briefly, the first time he'd seen her. He'd fallen out of a tree after trying to help Barkjon pick apples. The drop had knocked the wind from him, and when he'd opened his eyes he'd found himself face to face with the prettiest maid he'd ever met. He'd almost thought she wasn't real for a moment, the sun turning her gold-brown fur into a shining halo. Lucky for him, she had indeed been real.

"Brome?" Lavender took his paws, and Brome realized that he'd been sitting smiling at her for some time without answering her question. He shook himself, and planted a kiss on her brow.

"Just thinking of the conversation from breakfast," he said.

Lavender nodded knowingly. "He's the friend you're searchin' for, isn't he?" Brome gave Lavender a startled look. She motioned to Martin's chair, the carved sword on the back easily bringing the warrior to mind. "That warrior, Martin."

Brome nodded slowly. "How did you guess?"

"You're the one who suggested we name our son after 'im," Lavender pointed out. She placed her paws on Brome's cheeks, gently stroking his fur as she explained. "Our son is named Martin after a warrior, and you and Rose have been actin' strange ever since you met this Martin. He knew Keyla and Tullgrew's names, even though I'm sure he didn't overhear them last night, but he didn't know 'ow he knew. He comes from the north, same as us. And there are several missin' seasons of his childhood that nobeast can account for."

Brome smiled. "You're right. I should have realized that you'd guess." He took her paws and clasped them gently. "The question now is whether or not to tell Martin."

"Why wouldn't you tell him?" Lavender asked.

Brome sighed. "What happened at Marshank was not pretty, Lavender. The battle was a terrible thing to witness. Martin was enslaved for many seasons before that. Would it be right of us to remind him of such pain, especially now that he's found a life of peace and happiness?"

Lavender did not get a chance to answer before Primrose threw herself into her father's lap crying happily, "Auntie Rose is back!"

Brome look up and saw that Primrose was right; Martin and Rose were among the creatures entering Cavern Hole. Lavender stood and began dusting off Primrose's apron. "I s'ppose that means it's time to get ready for the feast," she said. She caught Brome's eye and nodded to him. Their conversation would continue at a later time, preferably with other members of the Rambling Rosehip Players present. Sighing softly, Brome stood and went to greet Rose.

It did not take long to prepare for the feast, Brome learned. The visitors from Noonvale fell in with the Redwallers, setting plates, lighting torches, and bringing dish after dish of marvelous food from the kitchens. Perhaps it was a trick of his preoccupied mind, or perhaps it was the joyful companionship that filled the hall, but it seemed that only a moment had passed before he found himself sitting down to eat. Martin, Bella, and Abbess Germaine sat in their chairs at the head of the hall, and everybeast listened in silence as Bella intoned the grace. Good food and good company were in full supply as the dinner began, and soon Brome forgot his concerns of the day. He found himself laughing with the others as Skipper and Lady Amber related the antics of Ferdy and Coggs during the welcome party in Brockhall, followed by Bella telling of the search for the map to Salamandastron. There was a brief moment of silent terror in the hall when Goody Stickle told of how Ferdy and Coggs had been captured by Tsarmina, until the two cellarhogs, both fully grown now, stood and waved. The story was highly entertaining, with many creatures contributing and ending for the night with Dinny recounting the events of Bat Mountpit.

It was not until he was halfway up the stairs to Great Hall, carrying Primrose and followed by his wife and children, that Brome realized that Martin had never taken a turn on the floor. The warriormouse had commented on a few things from his seat, but had left the storytelling largely to others. Rose, who was on the step ahead of Brome, seemed to sense her brother's thoughts.

"Did you find it odd?" she murmured, "The way that Martin never took a larger part in the storytelling?"

Brome nodded. "I would've thought that he'd at least have taken the floor with Gonff or Dinny, considering that he was the third member of the questing party."

Rose swung up onto the next step, winced, and leaned against the wall. Her footpaws must be hurting again, Brome realized. The mousemaid shook her head slightly, a soft frown playing about her lips. "I was watching him most of the night," she admitted. "He got a faraway look in his eyes when the story started, almost as though he was trying to picture it himself."

"You think he doesn't even remember coming to Mossflower?" Brome asked.

Rose sighed and started up the stairs again. "I'm not sure, Brome. I'm not sure."

Brome had no response for Rose. He simply continued up toward the dormitories, silently considering what Rose had said. Sleep was a long time in coming, but eventually he drifted off into the land of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Scourge Daughter for her help with this chapter


	4. Day 3 part 1

Yarrow Freebeast rose early, rubbing sleep from his eyes and leaving his wife, Kastern, to slumber on peacefully. The abbey was quiet and still in that magical hour between morning and night. Soft sounds of snoring and the gentle babble of babes speaking aloud in their sleep echoed throughout the red sandstone halls as Yarrow padded down toward the cellars. The cellarhogs, Ferdy and Coggs Stickle, were also up. They welcomed him with a beaker of warm cider and a seat near the small brasier they had used to heat it.

Yarrow had met the pair the day before, and taken instantly to the twins. They quite enjoyed hearing wanderers’ tales, they had told him, having wanted to be warrior-carpenter-cooks when they were dibbuns. Yarrow, for his part, had been more than happy to answer their questions. They had taken a particular interest when he mentioned the quality of the drinks at the feasts. The art of brewing had been the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening, with Yarrow explaining that he helped in the brewery whenever in Noonvale, and how he had developed his own special brew. By the end of the night, Ferdy and Coggs had invited Yarrow to help them select the drinks for the third day of feasting, claiming it was important to gather outside opinions from time to time.

And so it had come that Yarrow sat with Ferdy and Coggs around the small brasier, sharing a quiet breakfast before beginning the task of selecting the barrels that would need to be tapped for that evening.

Ferdy let out a sigh of contentment as he lowered his empty beaker. “Ah. Naught like a drop o’ warm cider to start a cold winter day.”

Coggs nodded his agreement, heaving himself up and off of the seat. “Right then. We’d best get started.”

The trio wandered the cellars, marking a barrel here and tasting a sip there, all the while pondering over the scroll Ferdy held for the list of drinks to bring up that evening. They had nearly finished their rounds when Yarrow heard paws on the stairs, and saw a pretty mousewife making her way down into the cellars followed by two young mice and a squirrel. He recognized one of the young mice right away. It was Tintin, Brome and Lavender’s eldest. The youngster’s bright blue eyes marked him as Lavender’s son. The other two he recognized from the evening of the first feast. Yarrow was not surprised to see that Tintin had teamed up with the pair. From what he’d seen, the two were thick as thieves and loved to make mischief.

“Good mornin’ to you, Columbine,” Coggs said, “And to you three, Gonfflet, Chugger, and your friend. I do hope you ‘aven’t come down to try swiping anythin’.” The pair in question quickly tucked their paws behind their backs, shaking their heads vigorously.

Columbine laughed goodnaturedly. “Let me know if they take anything, and I’ll straighten them out. Have you seen Martin yet this morning?”

Ferdy’s spike rattled as he shook his head. “‘Fraid I haven’t, marm. He’s prob’bly still asleep, what with no sun to wake him up. Why don’t you send the youngins to check, eh?” He watched Gonfflet, Chugger, and Tintin disappear down the passage, then turned to the small brasier to set a new beaker of cider over the flame. “Were you lookin’ for anythin’ else, marm?”

Columbine nodded. “Goody wants to know what you two are planning to bring up for this evening.”

“You’re in luck then, we just finished the list.”

While the two cellarhogs discussed the menu with Columbine, Yarrow watched the passage the youngsters had vanished down. He knew from Ferdy that the passage led to extra store rooms, as well as one bedchamber which Martin used during the winter when the snow got too deep for him to stay in the gatehouse. His vision clouded slightly as he recalled the dark days of Marshank. The question of what had happened to Martin after the siege was not exactly forbidden in Noonvale, but it may as well have been. There had been hope in the first few seasons after, that perhaps Martin might return someday. Yarrow had spent many a free afternoon seated on the rim of the valley, hoping to be first to spot some sign that the warrior mouse had returned. Such a day had never come. Eventually he stopped going. Little by little, the former slaves of Marshank had given up on seeing Martin again, though the loss struck them nearly as hard as if he had died.

Yarrow was not entirely certain how to feel about finding Martin. In a way, he was glad that Rose and Brome had been the first ones to speak with the warrior. Yarrow had not been terribly close to Martin, being a season younger, but he had looked up to the older mouse. And then Martin had left. A part of Yarrow wanted to confront Martin and ask why he never returned to Noonvale. Another part of him already knew the answer, and could not blame him for it.

The sound of splashing water and a shout from down the passage pulled Yarrow from the dark corners of his mind. There was the patter of paws on stone, and then the three youngsters burst back into the main cellar. Gonfflet and Chugger were laughing uproariously, as though they’d just played the perfect prank. They ducked behind Ferdy and Coggs, pulling Tintin with them, just as Martin emerged from the passageway dripping wet and blinking sleep from his eyes. The faded blue tunic he wore clung to him, soaked as though some enormous fish had decided to spit on him.

Ferdy couldn’t stop chuckling as he tossed Martin a barkcloth towel. “That water was for rinsin’ your paws and face, Martin, not for takin’ a bath.”

“Aye,” Coggs chimed in. “‘Tis cold enough on these winter morns without soakin’ yourself.” Martin said nothing as he toweled himself off and accepted the beaker of cider that Ferdy had warmed for him.

“Great seasons, what happened?” Yarrow did not want to laugh at his childhood friend’s predicament, but he had to admit that Martin did look rather comical standing half-awake with his fur sticking out in every direction.

Columbine sighed and pulled Gonfflet and Chugger out from their hiding place. “I’ll wager these two dumped the washbasin on Martin to wake him up.” Turning to the two miscreants in question, she waved a stern paw under their noses. “What’ve I told you two about dumping water on a beast to wake him up? T’ not to, that’s what. Someday you’re going to get somebeast sick doing that.”

“Silly Mama,” Gonfflet giggled. “You’re the one who’s always telling me that a drop of water doesn’t hurt anybeast. How could we get somebeast sick by splashing them?” He grinned unapologetically.

Yarrow shook his head. “I’ve seen it happen,” he said. The laughter died almost immediately. Gonfflet and Chugger stared at him, their eyes round with surprise.

“You’ve seen it happen, sir?” Chugger asked.

Yarrow nodded. “I was kidnapped into slavery when I was a dibbun. The guards used to throw cold water on us to wake us in the winter. I saw two of the older slaves die because the water made them too cold. They ended up freezing to death.” He watched Martin’s face while he was speaking, hoping to glimpse some sort of reaction. Though Martin’s eyes were still clouded with sleep Yarrow glimpsed a hint of confusion. It flickered for a moment, then disappeared as Martin looked to his left. Yarrow glanced up and saw Gonfflet and Chugger with horrified looks on their faces. Realizing that he may have said too much, he smiled and tried to reassure the youngsters. “Don’t worry, I’m sure nobeast would freeze to death in this abbey. I might have gotten a bit carried away in my description.”

Columbine smiled and shook her head. “No harm done,” she said. “These two needed the lesson anyways. Oh dear, Martin, your fur’s going every which way again.”

Martin, who was looking slightly more awake now, ran a paw through his fur to smooth it down.

“Right,” Columbine said. “I think I’ve got everything I came down for, I’ll see you all later at breakfast. Gonfflet, Chugger, don’t forget you promised to help Trimp make treats this morning.”

Chugger clasped his paws to his brow. “I’d nearly forgot ‘bout that!”

Gonfflet just chuckled. “If we hurry, maybe we can snatch a few candied chestnuts on the way. D’you want to come with, Tintin?”

Tintin shook his head. “I think I’ll stay here and see what Mr. Yarrow’s doing.”

“Alright,” Chugger said, already starting up the stairs with Gonfflet on his tail. Within moments they were gone.

Yarrow rubbed a paw over his face. “I hope they don’t take my words to heart. Me and my big mouth.”

“Nothing wrong with saying what you’re thinking,” Martin reassured him. “I’m sure those two will either have forgotten it by evening, or else at least learned something from it.”

“Still, I didn’t need to go into detail.” Yarrow grinned to himself and shook his head. “You’d think I’d’ve learned by now, what with my wife being an actress and all.”

Martin chuckled. “If we’re going by that logic, then there’s several things I should have picked up long ago. I’m Martin, by the way.”

Yarrow shook Martin’s paw firmly. “Yarrow. That youngin’s Tintin, Brome and Lavender’s son.”

Ferdy watched them with an amused smile on his face. “Careful there now, Yarrow, see that Martin doesn’t break your paw. He’s got a powerful strong grip.”

Yarrow’s smile grew wider. “So do most of the freebeasts from Marshank. Nobeast wanted a wimpy pawshake like the compound snitch, so we started shaking paws as firmly as possible.”

“Seems like a good reason to me,” Martin said. He finished the cider in his beaker and turned to Ferdy and Coggs. “So, what’re you two up to this morning?”

“We’ve got to tap the barrels we’ve chosen for the feast tonight,” Coggs told him. “Most everythin’ else is done.”

Martin nodded, setting his empty beaker with the others. “Which barrels need tapping?”

Coggs showed Martin how they’d marked the barrels needed, while Ferdy took Tintin and made a round of the cellars lighting extra torches. Yarrow shook his head at the resemblance between Martin and Tintin when the younger mouse stopped a moment next to the older. Tintin was taller and more slender than Martin had been at eight seasons, but the pale eyes set into dark fur proved an eerie similarity. Yarrow was glad, at least, that Tintin still had the spark of childhood innocence in his eye, which Martin had lost long before he and Yarrow had ever met.

It did not take them long to assemble the chosen drinks. Five pairs of paws made the work quick and smooth, with Tintin running empty flagons back and forth to the adults and Martin collecting filled ones. Tintin seemed particularly excited to be allowed to help with such grown-up work. Yarrow made a mental note of this. If Tintin continued to show such interest in brewing, then Yarrow would have to try recruiting him for the Noonvale brewery when they returned.

Soon enough, they gathered around the still burning brasier, Tintin perching on top of a barrel while the adults sat on wooden benches. Ferdy nodded to the three mice. “Thanks for your help, made things go far faster than we thought it would.”

Yarrow grinned and pulled a canteen from his satchel, which he had brought down with him earlier. “Since we’re all here, would you like to try a drop of this? It’s my own special brew.”

“Get another beaker for the lad, Ferdy,” Coggs said, “I’ll rinse out the ones we used earlier.”

Yarrow waited until all five beakers were cleaned and lined up, then poured a small amount into each one. The dark liquid danced and sparkled in the torchlight. “I’m afraid it won’t be quite the same as it usually is,” Yarrow said. “I’ve kept it as best I can over our journey, but it’s still not the same as having it straight from the barrel.”

Ferdy and Cogg nodded, preoccupied with examining this new drink. They swirled their beakers, examining the color and consistency, as well as sniffing it appreciatively before tasting. Tintin, who had tasted the drink before, was already slowly sipping his. Coggs took a slow sip, savoring the flavor as a grin spread across his face. “Now that’s a quality gin. What’s in it?”

Yarrow allowed himself a small smile. They liked it. “Juniper berries,” he answered.

“It does taste quite nice,” Martin said. “A bit piney. Reminds me of walking through a pine grove.” He took another sip of the gin. “Do you have a name for it?”

“Juniper’s Smile,” Yarrow said quietly.

Ferdy gave him a crooked grin. “I suppose it’s named after somebeast?”

Yarrow nodded. “A dear childhood friend of mine. He was like a brother to me.” He paused a moment, swirling the contents of his beaker as he pictured the last time he’d seen Juniper alive. “He perished at Marshank. Once I found out juniper berries could be used in gins, I knew I had to try my paw at making one.”

Martin nodded slowly in the silence that followed. “It’s always nice to find a special way to remember those dear to us,” he said finally. “Far too many lives are lost to war.”

Silence fell again, and Yarrow was almost sorry he’d brought out the gin. He had not expected Martin’s comment. _Have we lost you too?_ He wanted to ask the warrior. But such a question would only confuse Martin now. How could Yarrow explain to him the grief he’d seen on Barkjon’s face when Martin didn’t return to Noonvale? How could he remind Martin of the times Martin had taken the blame for something he or Juniper had done, just so that they would not be whipped? Even in the past day and a half, Yarrow had seen that same selfless side of Martin again and again. It hurt to see his childhood friend acting so similar and yet so different, almost as if the Martin he had known truly had died and been replaced with another.

The silence had become almost unbearable, when Tintin began to hum. He started softly, the quiet tune rising and falling in a comforting melody Yarrow recognized. Eventually, Tintin began to sing. The young mouse’s voice was soft, but clear, carrying easily throughout the cellars.

“I hear a voice across the sea,

Calling you and calling me,

‘Tis a sweet sound that speaks of long rest,

Yet in my heart I know,

Not I, but you must go,

While here I must stay behind.

Go now my friend,

Unto that quiet place,

Where there is no such thing as pain,

For in my heart you’ll stay,

Until such a day,

As we may be united again.

May you find the quiet streams,

And still forests,

Where the children lost to time do still play,

For I know that in those trees,

‘Neath the branches and the leaves

I’ll find you again someday.

Go now my friend,

Unto that quiet place,

Where there is no such thing as pain,

For in my heart you’ll stay,

Until such a day,

As we may be united again.”

Yarrow brushed tears from his eyes as the last notes hung on the air. Tintin had inherited his family’s talent with music, and it was apparent even at his young age.

“Sheodin’s Farewell,” Martin said quietly. “It’s been many seasons since I’ve heard that song.”

“You know about Sheodin, sir?” Tintin asked.

Ferdy chuckled. “Martin’s the one who told us the legends.”

“It’s an old tale,” Martin said. “Old tales tend to travel far. How did you learn it, youngster?”

Tintin grinned. “Auntie Rose taught me. She says it’s one of her favorite legends.” He finished his gin and slid down off the barrel, setting the empty beaker on an open space on the bench.

Yarrow scratched his ear, trying to remember how the legend went. He was sure Barkjon had told him at one point or another. Martin must have seen the confusion on his face, because the warrior gave him a small smile and said, “Sheodin was a warrior, though the legends never specify where he was from. He went off to war with his friend, Kelshin, who was like a brother to him. They had many adventures together, but always came out alright.”

“Until one day they didn’t,” Yarrow murmured. “I remember now. One day, an enemy archer got lucky, and killed Kelshin. Sheodin wandered for many seasons, mourning his friend, before returning to their childhood home.”

Coggs chuckled loudly. “Sounds a bit like Martin when you think about it. Don’t you think so Ferdy?”

Ferdy nodded. “Aye. So it does.”

“How does that sound like me?” Martin asked. He set his empty beaker next to Tintin’s.

Coggs shook his head as though the answer was obvious. “Can’t you see? Sheodin left his family home when he was very young, just like you. You both spent many seasons wanderin’ and becomin’ great warriors. Not to mention that you went back to the northlands six seasons ago to visit your old home. Only difference is that you didn’t stay there, you came back t’ Redwall.”

Ferdy stroked his chin. “Right, but what about the friend who died? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Coggs, but we don’t exactly know much about Martin from before he came to Mossflower.”

“I think that part is similar,” Martin said quietly. The twins fell silent.

Tintin climbed back up onto his barrel and faced Martin. “How would you know if you can’t remember? Papa says that you forgot a lot of stuff, so we’re not supposed to ask about your past or where you came from.”

“I remember a few things.” Martin’s eyes had gone distant, and he spoke as though half-asleep. “Mostly feelings and abstract thoughts. But I do know that I was grieving something or somebeast when I entered Mossflower.”

Coggs slapped his paw down on the bench. “That settles it.”

“No it doesn’t,” Ferdy interrupted. “You’re forgettin’ about the sister.”

Tintin tilted his head to one side. “What sister?”

Ferdy laughed. “ It’s the last part of the legend, you see. Sheodin wandered for many seasons, mourning his friend, before returning to their childhood home. There he found healing with Kelshin’s sister, whom he married.”

“Auntie Rose never mentioned that part,” Tintin said.

Coggs sighed. “If we’re goin’ to compare Martin to Sheodin, we might as well forget about the sister. My ol’ father says roses’ll bloom in midwinter afore Martin courts a maid, even if the rest of the abbey wants to see him happily married with a family.”

Martin shook his head and grinned, though Yarrow could not help but notice that the smile didn’t reach Martin’s eyes. “What would I do with a wife? I’ve got my own family right here at Redwall and I’m more than happy here.”

“Try sayin’ that when you wake up cold and alone out in the gatehouse,” Ferdy murmured to his twin.

Coggs sighed and made a show of standing. “Alright you lot, best be up to breakfast afore somebeast has to come down lookin’ for us. ‘Specially if we want to get enough food for a decent meal.”

Tintin grinned and slid off the barrel, calling over his shoulder as he dashed for the stairs, “Last one to the table is a fat frog!”

Martin laughed as he followed the youngster. “Fat frog, eh? We’d better follow him. I’ve met enough of those to say I wouldn’t want to be one.”

* * *

 Brome set his empty plate aside, pleasantly full of good food, and turned to see how Primrose was handling her scone. The little maid appeared happy enough, though Brome wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to get strawberry preserves between her ears. He was having a rather difficult time removing the preserves until Columbine handed him a damp cloth from her seat across the table. “Thank you,” he said as he wiped the sticky mess from Primrose’s head.

Columbine smiled and waved a paw at her son and husband, who were seated either side of her. “I’ve learned to keep one around in case one of these two gets into trouble.”

Brome chuckled and handed the cloth back. “It happens that often, then?”

“Only once in awhile,” Gonff said with a grin. The chubby mousethief winked broadly before surprising Columbine with a kiss. “Not that you mind, d’you my pretty flower?” Columbine didn’t answer, so Gonff turned to the rest of the table and asked, “So, what’re the plans for the day? Anything fun?”

“Don’t forget, you’re supposed to help Martin move into the cellars,” Bella reminded him. The big badger stood and began clearing the table.

Gonff was the picture of innocence. “Me, forget to ‘elp my matey move his things? You know that would never happen, Bella.”

“What about last summer, when we were supposed to help Columbine rearrange the infirmary?” Martin said without looking up from his plate. “I don’t recall seeing you about for the first half of the day.”

Gonff glared at Martin and aimed a leftover bit of scone at him. “That was different. It wasn’t my fault the sun made me drowsy in the orchard.”

Skipper nodded. “Must’ve been the birds what stole Goody’s pie that mornin’.”

Before Gonff could start up another argument about pie, Rose said, “I am curious about what’s going on today. I’ve got nothing planned for the afternoon.”

“Do you s'pose you could help us with moving Martin’s things then?” Gonff asked, completely forgetting his previous argument.

“Gonff,” Martin broke in.

Gonff waved a paw at Martin as if dismissing him. “Martin’s got most of the notes on how the abbey’s built.”

“Let me guess,” Rose said, “They’re written in northern runes?”

Gonff nodded. “I tried havin’ Gonffleft an’ Chugger sort them last time. Martin stayed up half the night re-sortin’ ‘em.”

“I don’t mind, Gonff,” Martin said.

Gonff fixed the warrior with a mock glare. “Are you tryin’ to deprive the maid of havin’ somethin’ t’do today?”

Rose giggled as Martin looked down at his plate and murmured, “No.”

“I’d love to help,” Rose said. She turned to her brother, “What are you planning, Brome?”

“Abbess Germaine has kindly offered to compare medical notes in exchange for helping to resort the herb supply,” Brome said. The Abbess smiled and nodded, her eyes twinkling as others around the table began explaining their plans for the day.

Lavender had agreed to help Columbine and Lady Sandingomm with a scavenger hunt for the dibbuns. Skipper apparently knew of a holt up north and was planning to ask Keyla and Tullgrew if they’d ever heard of the place. Lady Amber mentioned a roof-beam she need to look at, although she firmly insisted that Martin not worry about it unless she needed his help. Martin grumbled his agreement, causing Rose to start giggling again. And with that, Brome found himself heading to the infirmary with Bella and Abbess Germaine.

Bella carried Abbess Germaine up the stairs and carefully deposited her on one of the infirmary beds.

“I’ll be down in Great Hall or Cavern Hole when you finish,” Bella said. “Come find me when you’re done and I’ll bring Abbess Germaine back down.”

“Thank you, Bella,” Brome said, before turning to the table of herbs. It was easy enough at first to compare uses of familiar plants. Comfrey, feverfew, motherwort, and of course the ever present dock leaf. Brome found they had similar uses for most of the herbs he knew, which did not surprise him. Then he noticed the small satchel of herb hanging ready by the door.

“What is that for?” he asked, nodding to the satchel.

Abbess Germaine smiled sadly. “I haven’t used that in many seasons, though Columbine still keeps it ready in case we need it again.” She sighed, and indicated that Brome should take a seat before she continued. “There were many creatures to tend to in the seasons following the Mossflower war. Some, like Martin, stayed in Brockhall with us until Redwall was completed enough for us to move in. But others moved farther afield, building their own homes in the woods. That was my emergency satchel. I didn’t want to waste precious time gathering supplies whenever somebeast came to Brockhall in the middle of the night. Even so, there were some that could not be saved.”

Brome nodded. “There are times when no medicine can help,” he murmured. “We lost many in the seasons following the siege of Marshank.” It was rather amazing when he thought about it, that they had managed to save so many lives. He did not realize that Abbess Germaine had spoken again until the silence returned. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up from his paws, “I was a bit distracted. What did you say?”

The smile on Abbess Germaine’s face was both sad and understanding. “You wonder now if you’ve lost Martin as well, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Scourge Daughter for her help on this chapter as well
> 
> Rough recording of Sheodin’s Farewell can be found here: https://youtu.be/fI85YWD1XUY
> 
> I will also be livestreaming on my YT channel tonight (4/14 - 4/15) while I work on cover art for this fic. Livestreaming will begin at 2:30 a.m. cst. End time is not yet determined.


	5. Day 3 part 2

"Gangway! Comin' through. Oof, pardon me little darlin'."

A myriad of voices echoed off the walls of Great Hall as Gonff made his way through the crowd of dibbuns preparing for the scavenger hunt. Dibbuns were everywhere, running about, sitting in the middle of the room, getting underpaw, and talking loudly with one another as their chaperones shouted to be heard over the noise.

"I's gonna find a big stawb'ry!"

"Burr, you'm foolish choild. 'Tis too cold fer stawb'ies."

"Den why Missus Goody use 'em inna trifle?"

"Dear me! Columbine, will you grab that baby hedgehog before she topples off the table?"

"Le' go! I climb da walls like Chug!"

"Watch out zur Gonffen!"

Gonff skipped backward just in time as two small mice and a tiny molebabe ran in front of him. "Where are you three off to in such a hurry?" he called after the babes.

The smaller of the two mousebabes, a maid called Trif, looked back at him and yelled, "We gonna look fer scanger clues outside!"

"Oh no you don't, you little villains."

Gonff ducked as an enormous paw shot over his head and scooped up the three dibbuns. Lady Sandingomm held the troublemakers close as they tried to squirm out of her grip. "I've told you dibbuns twice already, there are no clues hidden outdoors. If I catch you three misbehaving and trying to get outside again it will be an early bedtime and no feast for you. Am I clear?"

The three dibbuns immediately stopped squirming and nodded their heads vigorously.

"Yes, Lady Sandigone."

"You'm be's clearer that 'e barthwater, Lady Sandergom."

"We's no more try ta go outerside, Lady Somdigan."

Lady Sandingomm smiled at the trio as she set them back on the floor. "And be sure to apologize to Mister Gonff. You nearly knocked him over."

The three babes looked at the ground sheepishly as they lined up in front of Gonff. Gurty, the molebabe, took it upon himself to speak. "We'm tur'bly sorry zur. Usn's didn' mean to knock ee over, bur aye."

Gonff smiled at the three mischievemakers over the edge of the basket he was carrying. "No need to worry, little mates, nothing broke."

Triff stood on tippaw, trying to peer into the basket. "Wot's in der?"

"Dat's da apple basket," the older mousebabe told her.

"I knows dat, Miskle," Triff said.

Gonff knelt down to prevent further arguing. "It's Martin's writing supplies," he explained. He tipped the basket slightly to give the dibbuns a peek, then stood and started walking toward the passage to the cellars. The three babes followed him.

"Why's you bringin' Unca Martin's stuff inside?" Miskle asked, trotting to keep up with the mousethief.

"Well, you see Miskle," Gonff slowed down and shifted the basket to one side, "The snow's started to get too deep outside, so Martin's moving into the cellars."

Triff nodded her agreement, dragging baby Gurty along by the paw. "I sawed da moles diggin' him outter da gate'ouse laster mornin'."

"Laster morning?" Columbine asked, coming up next to the group.

Gonff nodded seriously at his wife and snuck her a quick wink. "Aye, laster mornin'."

Columbine smiled and shook her head. "Alright, laster morning. Now you three youngsters run along, Mr. Barklad's assigning the teams." The three dibbuns scurried off toward the end of the hall. "Bless their little hearts," Columbine said, still shaking her head. "D'you remember when our Gonfflet was that small?"

"I remember, my pretty blossom," Gonff said. He shifted the basket again and caught his wife around the waist, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

Columbine giggle and blushed. "Oh stop it, you."

Gonff grinned roguishly. "Never." He laughed as Columbine tweaked his whiskers, kissing her paw before she could pull it away.

"Gonff, really," Columbine said, placing her paws on her hips. "I've got to finish setting up. I've still got-" she paused and felt the pouch at her belt. "Gonff!"

"Where do they go?" Gonff asked quietly, nodding to the basket which now contained several extra pieces of slate from Columbine's pouch. The small, gray tablets were covered in Columbine's neat writing. Some of the verses were quite short and simple, while a few ranged into longer paragraphs.

Columbine smiled and whispered in Gonff's ear, "They go in the cellars. Ferdy and Coggs will know where to hide them. Now hurry, before more dibbuns spot you."

"Very well," Gonff said, releasing her and tipping his hat. "Until we meet again, my beautiful flower." He turned and continued toward the cellars, leaving a blushing Columbine in his wake.

* * *

It did not take long to deliver the slate clues to Ferdy and Coggs. The twin cellarhogs joked and laughed with him for a few minutes before returning to their work. Gonff made his way down the passage to the open door of Martin's room.

It was not a large room. Decently sized for a mouse but somewhat cozy once everything was moved in. A squat, circular bed sat in one corner, covered by a faded brown blanket. Next to the bed stood a small table with a candle and an empty basin for water. The space was lit by a torch in the wall sconce next to the door. Rose was already in the room, looking about as she waited for somebeast to tell her what needed doing.

"No crutches today?" Gonff asked as he entered.

Rose shook her head. "It's quite warm here in the abbey, my footpaws have barely complained at all today." She glanced around the room again."Does he move down here every winter?"

Gonff nodded as he set the basket on the bed. "Aye, every winter since moving into Redwall. And then back out to the gatehouse as soon as the snow starts melting in spring." He watched the maid carefully as she nodded and continued looking about the room. She had taken a particular interest in his friend. That in itself wasn't special, plenty of maids had shown interest in the warrior over the seasons. Most didn't stick around long. Once they learned that Martin had no interest in starting a family they turned their eyes to more willing prospects. Rose, however, had made no such moves, her interest seemed purely innocent. She was an enigma to him. Martin had even taken to her fun-loving manner far quicker than Gonff would have expected. Accepting her presence in Redwall just as she accepted his faults and quirks, with the gentle patience of a long time friend.

Gonff's eyes went wide and he glanced at Rose again. She had come from the North, after all. The more he thought about it, the more plausible the idea seemed. Martin had never told Gonff his full story. They'd been too busy fighting a war, and by the time it was over Martin's memories were gone. True, Martin had told him the story of his father when they first met, but the quest to the North had proven that story to be full of holes. The only problem was that Gonff had no proof. They'd followed a song to the North, but Trimp had at least heard Martin's name before.

The sound of others coming down the hall reached Gonff's ears, and he decided that perhaps it was best to stay quiet for the time being. He would keep his eyes open, though. He had learned a few things from Martin over the seasons.

Dinny and another mole staggered into the bedroom, weighed down by the sturdy oaken desk they carried. Dinny nodded toward the wall across from the bed. "Yur, roight o'er thur, bur aye." They stumbled over to it, leaning the desk against the wall as they set it down.

"Moind thoi footpaws," the other mole warned. With much grunting and shuffling, the two moles rested their burden on the ground. "Boy oakey, that'n be ee solid desker."

"That it is, Grumm," Martin said from the doorway. "Thank you both for your help."

Both mole faces crinkled into smiles. "Et were our pleasure, Marthen. Coom on, Grumm, we'm still gotten ee chester t' bring doawn." They waddled back the way they had come, patting Martin on the back as they passed him.

Martin smiled at their retreating forms, them turned to Gonff and Rose. "Thank you for your help." He placed a second basket on the bed, this one full of rags, whetstones, and other various odds and ends. He may have hung up his sword, but that didn't mean he was going to let it get rusty.

"No worries, mate," Gonff said with a grin. "Besides, 'ow could I call myself an honest mousethief if I couldn't help a friend move?"

Rose snorted and cupped her paws around her mouth to muffle her laughter. "An honest thief?"

Gonff bowed and flourished his cap. "Aye miss. I'm the Prince of Honest Mousethieves you know. I can outwit any lock and haven't met an unfriendly key yet. Why, I could steal the whiskers off your face and you wouldn't even know. Ouch!" He jumped as Martin poked him in the side.

"Stop boasting and help me sort through this mess," he said, pointing to the baskets.

"It doesn't just go back on the desk?" Rose asked.

Martin shook his head, carefully spilling a basket out onto the floor. "At least half of it isn't mine, possibly more." He began sorting through the pile, pulling out things he recognized and leaving the rest for Gonff.

Rose knelt next to the warrior and pulled a half-finished sewing project from the pile. "What's this?"

Gonff took it from her. "That'll be the apron Columbine was working on last fall, so that's where she put it."

Martin waved a small flute under Gonff's nose. "This is yours."

"Doesn't play as well as the reed flute," Gonff said. Nevertheless, he took the flute and tucked it into his belt.

The trio continued sorting until the contents of the basket had been separated into several small piles. Columbine's apron had been joined by an extra set of needles and a pair of mittens that were too small for any of the adults. Gonff's pile was by far the largest, containing two canteens, one of them empty, a plate, three spinning tops, a handful of pretty stones, a carving of Gonfflet and Chugger that Folgrim had made for him, and several beakers.

"Is that everything?" Gonff asked, making a show of stretching.

Martin shook his head. "There's still plenty more to go though, my friend."

Gonff snorted. "I mean from that basket, mate."

Rose peered into the basket. "Not quite," she said, pulling out a small linen bag that had caught at the bottom, "Which pile does this belong in?"

Martin give a soft smile. "That's mine. It belonged to my mother," he explained quietly.

"Oh," Rose's eyes went wide. She turned the little bag over in her paws, examining the intricate beading. "It's beautiful." She paused, her face clouding slightly as though trying to decide what to say. "How did you find it?"

Gonff froze, watching Martin give Rose a strange look. "How did you know I didn't bring it with me when I first arrived?" Martin asked.

Rose shrugged, "On the first night you mentioned that you didn't have anything with you besides your sword."

Martin nodded, but Gonff wasn't convinced so easily. Martin had said no such thing on the night of the first feast, and Gonff was fairly certain the topic hadn't come up again since. It seemed rather strange to him that she would have known that Martin hadn't had the little bag in his possession when he arrived in Mossflower. "Gonff, myself, and some others went on a quest to the North six seasons ago," Martin said. "We found the caves my tribe used to live in, as well as a few of my father's friends. Vurg was the one who found the bag, although there isn't much in it. You can look if you want." He stood as she opened it, and walked with Gonff toward the door. "I wonder what's taking Gonfflet and Chugger so long?"

As if summoned by his words, the two youngsters, together with their new friend Tintin, appeared at the end of hall, out of breath and giggling as they carried stacks of books and papers. "Sorry Uncle Martin," Chugger said, "The books fell as we were leaving the gatehouse, some of them got wet."

Gonff took a book from the top of Chugger's stack and leafed through it. It was damp, but still readable. "They look fine to me, mate." He passed the book to Martin.

Martin flipped through the pages carefully, examining the writing inside. "It'll survive," he said finally. He turned back into the bedroom. "Rose, these three trouble-makers have brought the books. Gonff and I will go get the bookshelf if you want to start sorting?"

Rose glanced up from the embroidered cloth she was looking at. "Alright."

"Ask Rose where she would like them," Martin said to Gonfflet and Chugger. "Once you've done that, will you please start taking these extra things back to their owners? Leave the measuring tools by the wall, I want to find the whole set before returning them to Brother Scrittum."

Gonfflet grinned cheekily. "Will do, Uncle Martin."

"Come on, mate." Martin headed out the door with Gonff on his heels.

* * *

Rose watched the pair go with a smile on her face. She was glad to see that Martin had found a friend like Gonff after leaving the North. The warrior could handle himself in a fight, but she'd known he'd need someone to talk to after the events of Marshank. Even the little interaction she'd had with Gonff had shown her where some of Martin's new habits had come from.

"Where do you want the books, Miss Rose?" Chugger asked. The young squirrel stood before her, his chin barely clearing the stack of books and papers he held. He was slightly better off than Gonfflet, though. The poor mouse could barely see over his stack. Tintin, for his part, carried a stack of loose papers.

Rose pointed numbly at a spot on the floor. How could one mouse collect so many books? She waited until the youngsters had set their burdens on the floor, then sat between the stacks to begin sorting.

The first book she opened contained nothing but letters on the first page, written in three columns down the paper. She recognized the first two columns as northern runes and common woodlander, but the third column was foreign to her. The second page contained the first symbol from the strange column, repeated over and over. The first few lines were shaky and misshapen, but by the end of the page the writing was much more uniform. The next page was filled with the second symbol, and the next page with the third. Rose smiled as she flipped through the rest of the book, each page filled with a different letter. It was a study book that Martin had obviously used to practice Loamscript. She giggled when she saw the top of the final page. Martin had written his own name in all three alphabets, one below the other, and then had written it again using all three alphabets in the single word. The rest of the page was covered with a variety of small words written in Loamscript, most of them accompanied by small sketches. There was a bee, a feather, a basket, Gonff, a rosebush.

She stopped and stared at the rosebush, then looked at the word above it. The word had the correct number of letters to be 'rosebush', but something looked off. Glancing up at Martin's name, she realized that a few of the letters were the same. Keeping a paw on the page, she turned back to the first page with the three alphabets. It did not take long to find the first letter, although she stared at the 'L' in confusion for some time. The 'L' was followed by an 'A', which was followed by a 'T'. Her paw was beginning to shake as she matched up the rest of the letters. Her own name, Laterose, was spelled out in careful writing above the sketch. True, it was not her picture on the page, but she hadn't seen any lateroses since leaving her home in the north.

She was jerked from her thoughts by the arrival of Martin and Gonff with the bookcase. They carefully set the bookcase, made of the same solid oak as the desk, against the wall next to the bed. Martin stretched and rubbed an arm across his forehead. "Dinny and Grumm had to empty the chest before they could carry it, but once they finish we should be able to start sorting again. How are you doing, Rose?"

Rose shook herself. "I'm doing alright, though I haven't really started yet."

"Is that Martin's spelling book?" Gonff asked. "That'll come in handy if you find anythin' written in Loamscript.

Martin turned to her with a concerned expression. "Is everything alright? You seemed rather startled when we came in."

"It's nothing, really," Rose insisted. She wasn't entirely certain how to tell Martin that she'd just found her own name in the back of his book, or if she even should tell him.

This seemed to grab Gonff's attention, and he peered at the book over her shoulder. "What? Did Martin write something naughty at the end of the book?" Rose had moved her paw, but it didn't take long before Gonff figured out what word she'd been looking at. "Were you stumped by 'laterose' too? I keep tellin' Martin it's not a real flower, but he insists that it is."

Rose shook her head. "It's a real flower," she said, "I just haven't seen any this far south before. They're quite common in the north."

Martin joined the pair in staring at the page. "So that's where they're from. I couldn't remember when I wrote it, it just sounded pretty." He stared impassively at the name, then turned his attention to the door. "Come on Gonff, we've got more to move. Rose, you can keep that book open if you want, in case you find anything written in Loamscript."

Rose bit her lip, wishing she had something clever to say. Something that would make Martin turn and think about just where he'd heard of lateroses before. Instead she caught sight of Gonff giving her a questioning stare. He looked between her and the name on the page, clearly considering something.

"Gonff," Martin called again from the doorway, "Let's go."

"Coming." Gonff gave Rose one last glance, then hurried after the warrior.

Rose sighed as their pawsteps faded down the hall. She wasn't sure what she had expected to happen. Certainly not for Martin to suddenly remember everything of his past, but even some small hint of recognition would have been welcome. A tear slipped down her whisker, and she shook herself. Sitting here feeling sorry for herself was getting her nowhere, and she still had books to sort. Setting the study aside, she opened the next book on the stack. An array of numbers and equations greeted her. Neatly printed along the top of the page were the words 'West Wall and gate'. Rose closed the book and set it down. The next book was written in common woodlander, and included farming instructions. Rose started another stack. Soon she fell into a rhythm. Notes on the construction of the abbey went in one stack, other instructional books in another, and leisure reading in a third. She sorted through the books far faster than she had anticipated, and took little time placing each stack on its own shelf. Now she only had the papers left to sort.

Gonfflet, Tintin, and Chugger were in and out of the room continuously, taking the small piles of things back to their owners. Rose caught bits and pieces of their conversation each time they came in, and found herself smiling more and more as she listened to them talk. The three were clearly becoming good friends, judging by how quickly Gonfflet and Chugger had accepted her nephew.

The papers were not so easy to sort as the books had been, as there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the topics. A few pages were straightforward enough; a drawing of Great Hall here, a note on forestry there. But then there were the pages like the one with the layout of the cellars on one side and an unrelated poem on the other, or the scrap she'd found with half a recipe and a note reminding Martin of some event that surely had already passed. Rose glanced up as Martin and Gonff entered the room again. Martin must have seen her confused expression, because he set his basket on the bed and came to stand next to her. She showed him the paper with the cellar layout on one side and the poem on the other.

"It's a lovely poem, but what does it have to do with the cellars?" she asked.

Martin took the paper and examined it, scratching his ear absentmindedly. Finally he shrugged. "I can't see any connection between the two." He handed it back to her. "You don't have to sort through those if you don't want to, I can organize them tonight. I know they're a bit confusing."

Rose accepted the paper and gave him a defiant grin. "Is that a challenge?"

Gonff chuckled. "I think you'd best let her do it, Martin."

Martin raised his paws in surrender. "Alright, I just wanted to offer." He turned to the bookcase. "I see you've finished sorting the books."

"Yes," Rose said. She placed the paper in its own stack, and turned to point at the shelves. "Your notes on the abbey's construction are on the top shelf, organized by date whenever I could find it. The second shelf is poems and stories, and your instructional books are on the third shelf sorted by topic."

Martin shook his head admiringly. "Thank you, that'll make it much easier to find things."

Rose's grin softened at the complement. "You're welcome. I'm glad I could help." She nodded to the baskets on the bed. "Is that everything?"

"Not quite," Martin said. "There's at least one more basket to bring down, a few odds and ends, and the contents of the chest that Dinny and Grumm are bringing. They should be here any minute, we passed them on our way down."

As if on cue, the two moles appeared in the doorway, carrying a hefty chest between them. Moving slowly and carefully, they set it down near the end of the bed. Grumm wiped sweat from the tip of his nose. "Yur, thur thee be, zur Marthen. Bur ay, that'n be even 'eavier than ee desker."

Martin's eyebrows rose. "Did you empty the lower compartment?"

Dinny froze in the middle of wiping sweat from his eyes and slapped his forehead. "Oi knowed we'm furgotten some'at."

Martin went to the chest and unlatched two cleverly concealed hinges near the bottom. Opening the wooden panel, he pulled out a helmet, followed by a pair of gauntlets. He smiled and shook his head, handing the helmet to Grumm. "This is why the chest was so heavy."

Grumm hefted up the helmet until he could look in the visor. "Bur aye, Oi carn't 'magine wearin' some'at this 'eavy in'o ee battle, et be gurtly 'eavy." He handed the helmet back to Martin, and the warriormouse grinned as he slid it on.

His voice echoed strangely from inside the metal. "Don't ever get into the business of war, then, and you won't have to worry about it."

Gonff waggled a paw in his ear. "What was that, mate? Couldn't quite hear." He winked at Rose and held a paw to his lips, carefully removing a small stone from his sling-pouch and moving behind Martin.

Martin turned this way and that, his vision compromised by the helmet. He lifted the visor and looked about, repeating his previous statement. "Don't get involved in war, then you won't have to worry about having to wear armor."

Clang!

Gonff tapped the slingstone on the back of Martin's helmet. Martin ducked forward on instinct and the visor slid down with a resounding crash. The warriormouse swayed in place momentarily, then carefully pulled off the helmet. He shook his head several times, a dazed expression on his face. Dinny and Grumm were both chuckling, and even Rose had to crack a smile. It was clear that Martin was only startled, not injured. Still holding the helmet, he began looking around for the source of the tap. Rose saw Gonff quickly stowing the pebble in his pouch, and decided it was time to pick her side. She got Martin's attention with a quick flick of her paw, then discretely pointed at Gonff. It only took a moment before understanding dawned on Martin's face.

"Gonff," he said, slowly moving between the mousethief and the door, "You've never tried this on before, have you?"

Gonff was not fooled. "Oh no you don't, mate. I ain't putting that contraption on my head." He ducked away as Martin tried to slip the helmet over his head.

Soon the pair were running around the small room, Martin staying between Gonff and the door as he attempted to catch the mousethief. There was a wild gleam in his eye. Dinny and Grumm were both bent double with laughter, and Rose found herself wiping away tears of mirth as Martin chased Gonff around the small space. Finally he cornered Gonff between the desk and the wall, and slid the helmet over his head.

Gonff immediately stuck his paws out crying, "Let me out! It's dark in 'ere!" He walked forward stiff legged, tripped, and sprawled on the floor, narrowly avoiding Rose's tail. She quickly pulled her tail into her lap, and marveled that it hadn't been stepped on during the chase. A few of the papers had scattered across the floor, though.

Martin stood looking at Gonff, shaking his head and trying to hide the grin spreading across his face. "You alright there, mate?" He asked, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. Gonff grumbled something inside the helmet, though the sound was so garbled that Rose couldn't make out the words.

"Oohahahaahaahaha, wha-wha-what wa-a-as that? Ehehehehehehe, I cou-couln't he-he-hear you. Hahahahahha." She doubled over gasping with laughter, tears streaming down her face.

Gonff sat up and struggled to lift the helmet off his head. He had to wait until Martin grasped the offending object and pulled it off. "I said," he paused to probe at a tooth, "This room is bigger than I thought. I was aimin' for the bed." He spotted Rose holding her tail in her lap and frowned. "I didn't step on you, did I?"

Rose was still laughing far too hard to answer, so she shook her head and let Martin answer for her. "You almost did, Gonff. You need to watch where you're going."

"Well pardon me for not being able to see in that thing," Gonff spluttered. He fixed Martin with a mock glare, but it faded quickly and within moments he was smiling again. "How do you avoid tripping when you're wearing that?"

"Very carefully," Martin said. He took the helmet and placed it back in the chest, together with the gauntlets. Fixing the panel back in place, he stood and surveyed the room. "I'm sorry Rose, we've made a mess of all your hard work."

Rose shook her head, finally getting her laughter under control. "It's alright, I hadn't really started anyways." She watched Grumm bend to pick up a paper, only to have Gonff blow it out of his reach. The mole simply continued after the paper, picked it up, and handed it to her before going to collect others. Martin and Dinny followed suit, and after a few more moments of sitting on the ground blowing papers around, Gonff joined in as well. Rose stuck with gathering the papers that had fallen within arm's reach. As with the rest of the papers, they were mostly notes and poems, although a few sketches had been scattered into the mix.

"This is beautiful," Rose said, pausing with a detailed drawing of a butterfly in her paw. She gently traced the line of the wings while watching Martin from the corner of her eye.

His ears went red and he murmured a quick, "Thank you."

Rose smiled and set the paper on top of the rest, the reached for the next one. It was another sketch, even more detailed than the last. A squirrel, turned away from the viewer so that the face was hidden. Rose thought that perhaps it was Lady Amber, momentarily frozen in time. Perhaps Martin had drawn it after a battle during the Mossflower War. The squirrel stood staring into the distance, obviously ready to move at any moment, with the tail curled over the ears. Although, that couldn't be right. Rose very clearly remembered her meeting with the squirrel queen, and how Lady Amber had need to hold her circlet in place when she bowed, as she was missing one ear. But if the squirrel wasn't Lady Amber, then who?

"Rose?" Rose looked up to see Martin and Gonff standing by the door. "We'll be back soon, just going to get the last few baskets."

She managed a quick smile. "I'll be here."

Dinny and Grumm followed the two mice out, and Rose soon found herself alone with her thoughts. She placed the paper on the ground and continued sorting, glancing at it from time to time as she tried to figure out why it looked so familiar. Poems, notes, construction layouts, and even random scribbles soon found their way into piles on the floor. The squirrel sketch was soon joined by others, first a mouse, then an otter, then another squirrel. All of them from the back, all of them familiar, though she still couldn't place any of them. She was about to add the sketches to her original stack of drawings when she found a sketch that made her breath catch in her throat. She recognized the figure immediately. How could she not? It was Brome, several seasons younger, around the age he'd been during the events of Marshank. He sat facing the sea, his healer's bag slung over his shoulder, the hastily scribbled lines spelling the alertness of creature ready for battle. A quick glance at the other sketches confirmed this was the same across the images.

Rose peered at the first sketch again, this time seeing what she'd missed. The squirrel bore an eerie resemblance to her dear friend Barkjon, even from the back, and both shoulders were covered with the patchwork scars that come from a whip. It could be no other than Felldoh. She traced the lines with a finger, wondering how long ago Martin had drawn the sketch. Had it been while he still had his memories of Marshank? Or had the image come to him after he had forgotten? The thought of Martin drawing his friends with no knowledge of who they were brought tears to her eyes, but none of the sketches were labeled, so she had no way of knowing. With a sigh, she gathered the sketches into a stack and placed them below the other drawings she'd collected. Regardless of whether or not she wanted to remind Martin of his past, shoving a bunch of pictures in his face and insisting that she knew them didn't seem like the best route to take.

* * *

Gonff shivered in his cloak as he followed Martin over the packed snow. No matter how many layers he wore, the wind seemed to bite right through him. Still, the snow did make Redwall beautiful. The great redstone walls were softened by the cap of snow that topped the battlements, causing the sandstone to turn a rose-colored hue.

Rose-colored stone, that was what Martin always called the sandstone. Gonff had never thought anything of it, until today. He thought back to when he'd first met Martin, half-starved but still ready to fight in the dungeons of Kotir. The warrior hadn't said much about his past, just mentioned a few names and spun a tale of leaving his home the autumn before. Funnily enough, now that he thought about it, one of the names Martin had mentioned, Felldoh, was the same name as one of the otters visiting the abbey. Rose had recognized the name of a flower in Martin's study book, and she and Brome just happened to be looking for a warrior friend of theirs who had wandered south seasons ago.

"Are you coming, Gonff?" Martin called from the gatehouse door.

Gonff made a show of staggering toward his friend. "I'm comin' mate, me ole' joints don't work as well as they used to." The ploy worked and soon Martin was chuckling at the comical sight.

"You're not that old, silly."

"Not yet I'm not," Gonff responded. He brushed past Martin and into the gatehouse. The cozy space seemed emptier without the desk and bookshelf. The large, sturdy bed, a gift from the otters of holt Tungro, sat in the same corner it had first been placed in. The frame was so heavy that Dinny had declared it not worth moving every other season. Heavy quilts lay draped across mattress, neatly folded to be ready for Martin when he moved back out next spring. The last three baskets and a pile of clothes sat on top of these, together with a staff that leaned against the wall. Gonff grabbed one of the baskets, and was attempting to balance the staff on top when Martin took it from him.

"Let me get that," he said.

Gonff sniffed. "Don't you know? I'm Prince of Balancers, mate." He stuck his nose in the air and frowned. Martin chuckled again, shaking his head.

The door opened, and Dinny and Grumm waddled into the gatehouse. "Burr, et bees tur'bly cold out yur," Dinny said. "Be thur anythin' else t' take in?"

Martin nodded to the bed. "Just a few baskets and the clothes. Thank you both for helping." The two moles grabbed a basket each, and turned back to the door, quietly chatting with each other. Martin clasped the staff under his arm and picked up the pile of clothes. With a nod to Gonff, he headed back out into the frozen white. Gonff sighed and headed out after him.

It took only a moment to catch up with Martin and the two moles. Martin walked silently, absentmindedly monitoring their surroundings as he always did. Dinny and Grumm, however, had discovered many things they had in common, and were conversing animatedly.

"Yur, so wha' 'appened to ee ratters after ee Badger Lord sent you'm all in'o ee sea arfter ee boater?" Grumm asked.

Dinny chuckled heartily, his eyes almost disappearing into the velvety folds of his fur as he smiled. "You'm should've seen thur faces. They'm were so scared they didn' know what to do. We'm sent them back o'er ee beach to they'm friends an took ee boat back t' Mossfl'wer. Et were full o' slaves an' weapons, so we'm set 'em all free. Oi named ee boat 'Wudship'. Et wer a good boat arfter all ee varmints were gone."

"Ohohohoho, et zounds like ee gud boat," Grumm said. "Oi been on a few. Ee _Waterlilly_ were ee foin ship, an ee crew wer foin gen'elbeasts. They'm even made us zoop."

"Hur, you'm loik zoop?"

"Grumm," Gonff broke in, an idea coming to him suddenly, "Have you ever seen a laterose? Martin and Rose claim they grow in the north, but I've never heard of one."

Grumm turned to Gonff and is smile grew even bigger. "Hurr, o' course Oi've seen ee laterozers. They'm grown aplenty 'round Noonvale, but not much elsewurr. Whoi, that'n be Mizz Rozer's name too."

"Her name is Laterose?" Gonff asked.

"So et be," Grumm said.

Gonff dropped back and the conversation turned back to soups and other such things. Why hadn't Rose bothered to mention that Laterose was her full name or that the flowers grew specifically around Noonvale? Even if she had never met Martin before, surely she would have noted that he must have been near Noonvale before. Unless there was something else she wasn't telling. As he followed Martin into Great Hall, Gonff's mind turned back to the first summer spent in the abbey. He couldn't say if it was moving out of Brockhall that did it, or the new surroundings of Redwall, but Martin's nightmares had increased in number that summer. Gonff knew this only because he had a habit of dropping in on the warrior before Martin was properly awake. There had been more than one occasion, however, when he'd turned up to find Martin awake especially early, sitting in the gatehouse surrounded by sketches of creatures all turned away from the viewer.

Gonff was so lost in his memories that he walked into the doorframe of Martin's room. "Goodness me," he said, "Who put that there?"

Dinny raised a digging claw. "Tha' wud be Oi."

Rose, who had finished sorting the papers while they were gone, laughed aloud. "Is moving always this fun?"

Martin grinned at her as he set his clothes and staff on the bed. "No, only when visitors are around. Then he shows off." He started refolding his tunics as Gonff, Dinny, and Grumm deposited their baskets on the floor. Rose joined Martin in folding while the other three sorted through the contents of the baskets. Gonff watched her out of the corner of his eye. Something about her seemed to take away Martin's edge, he became more relaxed around her, almost as though her very presence ensured that everything would be alright.

"What's this?"

They had nearly finished sorting when Rose asked the question. She had picked up Martin's staff, and was running a paw across the carved hardwood.

"Folgrim made it for me," Martin said quietly. "He's quite talented with a blade."

He was indeed. The staff was so intricately carved it looked like a living thing. The top of the staff was carved into an detailed filigree orb with ivy and climbing roses falling out over the joint where the ball met the rest of the staff. The life-like leaves and flowers seemed to emerge directly from the staff itself, weaving around the wood to create a convenient handle.

Rose nodded, still looking at the staff. "It's beautiful. Sturdy too. Do you use it when you go hiking in the woods?"

Martin shook his head, placing the last of the tunics into his chest. "It doesn't get much use," he said.

Gonff snorted. "Doesn't get much use?" Martin shot him a glare, but Rose had already caught the tone in Gonff's voice. She looked at him questioningly.

Martin beat him to the answer. "Only when I was recovering from a summer cold." There was a flatness in his tone that put an end to the conversation. Gonff continued sitting on the floor watching Rose as she watched Martin. The warrior stood staring at the wall above the bed, tensed as though ready to run. An uncomfortable silence filled the room before Rose broke it with a new topic.

"Tintin says you're familiar with the legend of Sheodin." Her voice was soft, almost apologetic.

Gonff jumped on the opportunity; the beginning of an idea regarding Rose and her traveling companions was forming in his mind, but he need to check something first. "Aye, Martin's the one who told most of us about it after he found a copy in Bella's study. It's upstairs in the library now, if you want to see it."

This idea seemed to please Rose immensely. "Is it really? I'd love to see it. I thought there were only a few written copies."

Martin smiled, the tension easing from his shoulders as he took up the explanation. "Bella's family has lived in Mossflower for generations. Her great-great-grandfather commissioned the book. She donated it to our library a few seasons back."

Gonff grinned, he loved it when things went according to plan. "Martin, why don't you take Rose upstairs and show her? We three," he motioned to himself and the two moles, "Can finish up here."

"Are you sure?" Martin asked, glancing between Gonff and the other two. Rose appeared quite interested in the idea.

Gonff stalled any further arguments from Martin by standing and gently pushing his friend toward the door. "Leave it to us, mate. We'll get the rest of this sorted and returned to their owners."

Martin paused a moment more, then gave Gonff a small smile "Thank you, mate." He led Rose from the room, quietly telling her more of the library and the books it contained.

Gonff watched them go, then turned to the desk where Rose had stacked the papers she'd sorted.

"Be's you alookin' fer summat?" Dinny asked.

Gonff nodded. "Aye, I just want to see if Martin still has something." His paw flitted between the stacks of paper. Rose had done her job well. The notes on the abbey architecture were neatly placed next to a collection of loose poems, recipes and random notes were in another. The stack Gonff was looking for was near the back. He frowned as he began leafing through the pages. The sketches seemed innocent enough until halfway through the pile. The papers fluttered lazily as he flipped from one to the next. Many different creatures, all facing away from the viewer, and sketch upon sketch of a small, walled compound. Gonff was searching for one sketch in particular, which he had seen by chance one day when he'd gone to wake Martin. Martin had finished the sketch in a hurry, and tucked it beneath a pile of other papers, but Gonff had managed to catch a glimpse. He flipped to the next page and paused, then pulled the sketch free of the others.

It was a mousemaid, not yet fully grown. Like all the others, she was turned away so that her face could not be seen, but that didn't keep Gonff from recognizing what he was looking for. Martin's rushed lines somehow always conveyed something or other about the creature pictured, and this sketch was no different. The maid could be none other than Rose, Gonff was certain, but now he had an even bigger question. If Rose had known Martin before he came to Mossflower, then why hadn't she said anything yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks to the wonderful Scourge Daughter for her help with beta-reading and editing... I don't know what I'd do without her
> 
> Some of you may have noticed that this chapter took quite a bit longer to get up than the previous chapters... I must apologize for the delay, I certainly don't intend to take forever with each chapter. Ch. 5 was delayed due to wedding preparations... that's right, I got married! Ch. 6 might be a little bit longer in coming as well since we're still settling into our new place, but hopefully finding time to write won't be nearly so difficult now that I don't have twenty-gazillion things to decide for the wedding...
> 
> Also, for those who do not know, you can always check my Tumblr account 'RedwallThoughts' for updates a previews on upcoming chapters.


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